358 


UNIV.  OF  GALIF.  UJKKAKY.  LOS  ANGEL18 


Homftarb 


BY 

VICTORIA  CROSS 

Author  of 

"Life's  Shop  Window" 
"Paula,"  "A  Girl  of  the  Klondike,"  etc. 


KENSINGTON    PRESS 

18    EAST    SEVENTEENTH    ST.,    NEW  YORK 


DEDICATED 
TO 

"  Verona's  summer  hath  not  such  a  flower." 


2129107 


PREFACE. 


r  I  HAVE  been  challenged  by  certain  papers  to  state  my 
intentions  in  writing  "  Anna  Lombard."  This  is  my 
reply:  I  endeavored  to  draw  in  Gerald  Ethridge  a  character 
whose  actions  should  be  in  accordance  with  the  principle? 
laid  down  by  Christ,  one  that  would  display,  not  in  word* 
but  in  his  actual  life,  that  gentleness,  humility,  patience, 
charity,  and  self-sacrifice  that  our  Redeemer  himself  en« 
joined.  It  is  a  sad  commentary  on  our  religion  of  to-day 
that  a  presumably  Christian  journal — The  Daily  Chronicle 
— should  hold  this  Christ-like  conduct  up  to  ridicule  and 
contempt,  stigmatize  it  as  "  horrid  absurdity,"  and  declare! 
that  for  such  qualities  a  man  ought  to  be  turned  out  of  thei 
service.  I  challenge  The  Daily  Chronicle  and  all  who  fol- 
low its  opinion  to  find  one  act  which  does  not  reflect 
Christ's  own  teaching,  committed  by  Gerald  Ethridge. 
He  forgives  the  sinner,  raises  the  fallen,  comforts  the 
weak.  He  works  and  suffers  to  reclaim  the  pagan  and  al" 
most  lost  soul  of  Anna  Lombard.  Fearlessly,  and  with 
the  Gospel  of  Christ  in  my  hand,  I  offer  this  example  ol 
his  teaching  to  the  great  Christian  public  for  its  verdict, 
confident  that  I  shall  be  justified  by  it. 

VICTORIA  CROSS. 


ANNA  LOMBAKD. 


ANNA  LOMBARD. 


CHAPTER  I. 

A  FLOOD  of  glaring  yellow  light  fell  from  the  chandeliers 
overhead,  a  sheen  of  light  seemed  to  be  flung  back  from 
the  polished,  slippery,  glittering  floor  which  mirrored  a 
thousand  lights  above  and  a  hundred  lesser  lights  fixed  to 
the  walls,  dazzling  hi  white  and  gold.  There  was  so  much 
light,  so  much  glitter,  that  it  seemed  to  hurt  the  eyes  com- 
ing directly  from  the  soft,  dark  night  outside.  It  seemed 
to  wound  mine  as  I  stepped  through  the  long  window  open 
to  the  marble  piazza  where  I  had  been  sitting,  silent,  by  a 
pillar,  alone  with  the  gorgeous  Eastern  night. 

The  music,  too,  was  stirring  and  martial  rather  than 
soothing.  It  was  the  splendid  band  of  the  Irish  Grena- 
diers, and  just  then  they  were  playing  for  all  they  were 
worth.  It  seemed  as  if  some  one  had  bet  them  they  could 
not  make  a  noise,  and  they  had  bet  that  they  could.  From 
end  to  end  the  room  was  one  blaze  of  color,  the  scarlet  and 
gold  of  countless  uniforms  standing  out  prominently  in  the 
general  scheme.  There  were  comparatively  few  present  in 
plain  civilian  dress  and  no  undress  uniforms  were  to  be 
found,  for  it  was  an  occasion  such  as  might  not  be  known 
again  for  two  or  three  years,  or  more,  in  that  part  of  the 
country.  It  was  the  ball  given  by  the  commissioner  of 
Kalatu  in  honor  of  the  viceroy,  on  the  latter  passing 
through  that  station.  .* 

I  stood  leaning  against  the  pillar  of  the  window  by  which 
I  entered  the  room,  watching  idly  the  brilliant,  swaying 
crowd  before  me,  and  wondering  how  much  real  joy,  pleas- 
ure, and  gayety  there  was  in  the  room  in  proportion  to  the 
affected  amount  of  all  these. 

For  myself,  I  felt  singularly  mentally  weary  and  dis- 
heartened, yet  I  was  generally  considered  a  much-to-be- 


,tO  ANNA    LOMBARD. 

>nvied  person,  one  of  Fortune's  particular  favorites.  I  was 
foung — not  yet  thirty,  though  sometimes,  possibly  the  re- 
sult of  much  severe  study,  my  brain  and  inner  being 
seemed  singularly  old — I  had,  some  five  years  before,  come 
iDut  head  of  the  list  in  the  Indian  Civil  Service  examina- 
tion, and  had  been  granted  the  coveted  position  of  assistant 
commissioner;  my  pay  was  good,  my  position  excellent, 
my  work  light,  and,  indeed,  far  beneath  the  capacity  my 
severe  education  had  endowed  me  with;  girls  smiled  upon 
me,  mammas  were  not  unkind,  and  "  lucky  fellow  that 
Ethridge  "  was  a  comment  frequently  on  the  lips  of  my 
companions.  And  yet,  in  spite  of  all  this,  how  empty  life 
seemed  to  that  lucky  Ethridge  himself!  As  a  boy,  always 
given  rather  to  dreams,  speculations,  and  ideas,  how  fair 
that  same  life  looked  to  me;  in  my  cold,  hard,  chaste 
youth  of  study  and  work,  how  much  there  had  seemed  to 
be  done  in  it,  to  be  gained,  to  be  enjoyed!  When  my  work 
is  done!  I  had  so  often  thought,  and  now,  behold!  my 
work  was  done,  and  I  was  free  to  do,  to  have,  to  gain,  and 
to  enjoy,  and  suddenly  there  seemed  nothing  particular  in 
it  all.  No  such  wonderful  joy  to  be  enjoyed,  and  no  such 
marvelous  thing  to  be  gained.  This  arena,  that  had  looked 
so  fair  and  dazzling  while  I  was  still  shut  behind  its  gates, 
seemed  rather  circumscribed  and  empty  now  that  I  was 
actually  inside,  and  I,  as  it  were,  seemed  merely  walking 
aimlessly  about  in  it  and  kicking  up  the  sand  which  was  to 
have  been  the  witness  of  such  great  achievements,  accord- 
ing to  my  former  vague  ideas. 

After  a  minute  or  two  I  was  conscious  of  some  one  stand- 
ing close  beside  me,  and  I  turned  slightly,  to  see  a  young 
lieutenant  in  the  uniform  of  the  Grenadiers. 

"  Beastly  thin  that  girl  is!  Just  look  at  her  shoulder- 
bones!"  was  his  first  remark  addressed  to  me  without  any 
preface. 

My  eyes  idly  followed  his,  and  I  noticed  the  girl  passing 
us,  rather  a  pretty,  graceful  debutante,  thin  with  the  thin- 
ness of  extreme  youth  and  immaturity.  Her  shoulders 
rose  white  and  smooth  from  her  white  gown  of  conven- 
tional, one  might  say  viceregal  lowness — for  at  balls  given 
to  the  viceroy,  gowns  are  cut  lower  than  usual  in  honor  of 
the  occasion — but  certainly  beneath  their  delicate  surface 
two  little  bones  stood  out  rather  too  prominently.  I  looked 
at  them  absently,  thinking  it  was  the  quality  of  the  heart 


ANNA    LOMBARD.  1] 

that  beat  beneath  them  that  would  exercise  and  influence 
me  most  in  my  judgment  of  their  owner. 

"  She  is  very  young,"  I  returned.  "  In  a  year  or  two 
she  will  probably  be  fat  enough  to  please  you.'* 

'*  Thanks;  then  she  will  be  passee,  don't  you  know. 
Confound  it,  these  English  girls  are  all  thin  when  they're 
young  and  when  they're  fat  they're  old.  There's  no  get- 
ting  one  just  made  to  suit  a  fellow." 

"  And  what  about  the  girls;  are  the  men  made  to  suit 
them?"  I  inquired,  turning  to  look  at  him  more  fully. 

He  had  a  square,  white  face,  with  pale  blue,  expression-, 
less  eyes,  a  weak,  receding  chin  and  forehead,  a  weaker 
mouth,  and  a  slight  lisp  in  his  voice.  In  his  hand  he" 
swung  an  eye-glass,  which  he  lifted  only  occasionally  when 
an  unusually  striking  girl  went  by.  He  laughed  good- 
humoredly — a  fatuous,  conceited  laugh. 

"  Aw,  ah — I  don't  really  know,  upon  my  word;  but 
they  seem  devilish  glad  to  get  us,  don't  you  know,  when 
they  have  a  chance." 

I  did  not  answer.  The  conversation  did  not  interest  me; 
but  where  was  I  to  find  any  better?  I  glanced  along  tho 
line  of  vacuous  faces  by  the  wall  to  right  and  left  of  me. 
What  was  the  use  of  moving?  I  should  only  hear  some? 
thing  like  this  from  the  next  man  beside  whom  I  should 
find  myself. 

There  was  a  few  moments'  silence.  Then  my  compan- 
ion glanced  suddenly  at  his  card  and  affected  to  start  witlj 
sudden  recollection  and  contrition. 

"By  Jove!  I  had  forgotten  that  poor  Miss  Scemler. 
She  is  waiting  for  me  all  this  time.  Promised  her  thi& 
dance,  you  know — d — — d  scrawny  girl,  too,  but  then  she'd 
be  so  awfully  disappointed,  you  know.  See  you  again," 
and  he  mingled  with  the  line  of  idlers  passing  round  the 
room,  in  his  search  for  the  doubtless  tremulously  eager 
and  expectant  Miss  Scemlar. 

Hardly  a  moment  or  two  later  another  acquaintance 
came  up  to  me.  This  time  it  was  a  handsome  young  fel- 
low with  a  dark,  eager  face  and  high  color. 

"  Well,  Gerald,  old  man,  what  makes  you  look  so 
awfully  blue?  Come  and  have  a  pick-me-up,  a  bitter  or 
something  is  just  what  you  want.  Come  along  to  the  bar. 
You  ought  to  be  there,  too.  We're  talking  the  race,  you 
know.  There's  a  fellow  there  has  got  all  the  tips.  Now 'a 


12  ANNA    LOMBARD. 

the  time  to  lay  your  money.  He  says  Lemon  won't  be  in 
it;  they  say  now  Parchment  is;  but  you'd  better  hear  it 
from  him.  Come  along." 

I  stood  still  by  the  pillar  and  looked  at  his  animated  face 
with  a  slight  smile. 

'*  Thanks.  I  don't  think  I'll  come.  I  do  feel  rather 
blue  to-night." 

"  Why,"  he  returned,  rather  blankly,  "  I  think  it  an 
awfully  jolly  ball.  I  have  been  having  a  first-rate  time." 

"What  have  you  been  doing?"  I  asked,  with  a  faint 
stirring  of  interest.  Perhaps  he  could  show  me  how  to 
have  a  good  time  too. 

"  I  have  been  in  the  bar  all  the  time.  The  champagne 
is  going  just  like  water.  All  free,  you  know,  and  good 
stuff  too.  He's  a  jolly  old  com.  He  doesn't  do  things  by 
halves." 

The  interest  died  out  again. 

"  Don't  let  me  keep  you.  You  may  lose  some  of  the 
valuable  tips,"  I  said.  "  I'll  stay  here.  I  don't  care  for 
the  races  or  the  champagne  either." 

"  You  are  such  a  queer  fellow,"  he  replied,  eyeing  me 
askance.  "  What  do  you  care  for,  I  wonder?  But  you'd 
better  come." 

With  that  he  passed  on,  and  I  was  again  left  alone.  A 
short,  stout,  elderly  gentleman  scudded  up  to  me  next. 
He  was  a  great  talker,  and  it  was  a  treat  for  him  to  find 
some  unoccupied  person  apparently  able  to  listen  to  him. 

"  Good-evening,  my  boy.  I  see  you're  enjoying  your- 
self with  the  rest  of  the  young  folks." 

"  Good-evening,  colonel,"  I  replied. 

"  I've  discovered  all  about  that  Brentwood  affair  to- 
night," he  went  on,  coming  nearer  to  me  and  speaking 
confidentially.  "  It's  a  scandal,  a  shame;  it's  clear  that 
Brentwood  accepted  a  contract  for  the  lumma  road  and 
never  meant  to  build  it,  never  meant  to,  I  say;  the  service 
is  rotten,  rotten  through  and  through,  and  if  the  Govern- 
ment don't  take  some  steps  about  it — well  I  don't  claim 
any  particular  brilliance  of  intellect;  I  don't  suppose  my 
brain  is  more  acute  or  my  vision  clearer  than  the  ordinary 
man's — " 

Here  he  seemed  to  pause,  as  if  he  would  like  some  inter- 
ruption, and  so  I  gratified  him  with  a  murmured: 

"  I  don't  know  about  that,  colonel." 


LOMBARD.  13 

When  he  proceeded,  happily: 

— "  And,  therefore,  what  I  can  see  others  can  see.  If  I 
know  these  things  are  going  on,  why,  others  know  it. 
Now,  I  am  proud  of  my  country,  I  am  proud  of — " 

I  am  afraid  I  lost  what  else  furnished  him  with  a  cause 
of  pride,  for  my  attention  wandered.  Somehow  I  did  not 
seem  to  care  if  the  service  were  rotten  or  if  Brentwood  had 
contracted  to  build  fifty  roads  and  then  backed  out  of  it. 
My  former  interlocutor  was  right;  I  was  queer,  I  suppose, 
since  none  of  these  vital  matters  interested  me. 

I  really  had  an  engagement  for  the  coming  dance,  so 
when  I  had  listened  respectfully  to  the  whole  speech,  and 
the  colonel  stopped  to  take  breath  for  a  moment,  I  said: 

"  You  must  excuse  me,  colonel;  I  have  to  look  for  my 
partner  for  this  waltz." 

"  Very  good,  my  boy,  very  good,"  he  replied,  genially, 
having  at  last,  as  he  hoped,  impressed  some  one  with  a 
sense  of  Brentwood's  enormities.  "  I  don't  grudge  you 
the  dance  or  the  girl.  I  like  to  see  boys  enjoy  them.' 
selves." 

With  which  comforting  assurance  in  my  ears  I  started 
listlessly  to  find  my  partner. 

That  young  lady  I  soon  discovered  sitting  on  afauteuiL 

"  I  thought  you  had  forgotten  our  dance!"  she  ex- 
claimed the  moment  I  came  up,  and  she  looked  at  me  with 
an  arch  expression  that  told  me  very  clearly  she  thought 
such  a  thing  would  be  an  utter  impossibility. 

She  was  slight  and  round,  very  well-dressed,  with  a 
pretty  face,  frivolous  expression,  and  a  mouth  that  was  al- 
ways laughing.  I  assured  her  that  the  dance  was  what  1 
had  been  waiting  for  all  the  evening,  and  we  started  to- 
gether. She  talked  the  whole  time.  She  told  me  how  the 
last  man  she  danced  with  had  held  her  so  tightly  the  flow- 
ers at  her  breast  had  all  been  crushed  and  broken;  wasn't 
he  a  wretch?  Not  but  what  she  liked  to  be  held  tightly, 
she  exclaimed,  as,  involuntarily  my  arm  round  her  loos- 
ened, but  not,  of  course,  so  as  to  crush  her  flowers:  but 
they  were  all  dead  now,  and  it  didn't  matter.  A  hateful 
girl,  too,  had  trodden  on  her  train;  they — trains — were  a 
bore  of  course  in  dancing,  but  didn't  I  think  they  made  you 
look  more  graceful — yes,  well,  she  thought  so  too,  and  was 
glad  I  thought  so;  and,  fancy,  that  ugly  little  Miss  John- 
son was  going  to  marry  Captain  Grant  of  the  Eleventh, 


14  ANNA    LOMBARD. 

and  wasn't  it  wonderful  what  he  could  see  in  her,  and 
didn't  I  think  she  was  ugly?  Not  know  her  by  sight? 
why,  of  course  I  must  know  her.  She  sat  three  pews  be- 
hind me  and  in  the  left  aisle  at  church,  and  when  the  con< 
gregation  turned  to  the  east  to  say  the  Creed  I  could  cer- 
tainly see  her. 

While  this  was  being  poured  into  my  ear,  I  had  to  keej* 
my  eyes  well  on  the  alert  to  guard  against  possible  colli- 
sion, as  the  room  was  very  crowded,  and  just  as  we  passed 
a  corner  my  gaze  fell  suddenly  on  a  figure  in  white  silk  sit- 
ting alone  on  a  fauteuil.  I  don't  know  why,  but  some- 
thing in  the  figure  caught  and  held  my  eye;  perhaps  it  was 
only,  in  the  first  place,  that  it  was  alone  and  therefore  pos- 
sibly disassociated  with  all  this  crowd,  with  which  I  myself 
felt  so  out  of  tune. 

"  Do  you  know  the  name  of  that  girl  in  white  we  have 
just  passed?"  I  asked  my  companion,  breaking  in,  I  anr 
afraid,  rather  abruptly  upon  more  confidences. 

"  That?"  she  replied,  looking  back  over  my  shoulder 
"  Why,  you  must  know  her,  surely;  she's  the  general> 
daughter — Anna  Lombard." 

"  Anna  Lombard,"  I  repeated.  "  It's  a  curious  nama, 
It  sounds  somehow  to  me  medieval,  a  Middle  Age  sort 
of  name." 

"  Oh,  Anna's  not  middle-aged,"  returned  inconsequent 
ly  my  rather  flighty  companion.  "  She  was  twenty-ono 
yesterday,  and  just  out  from  England,  where  she  was  kept 
at  study  and  things — regular  lessons,  you  know.  Don't 
you  think  it  a  shame  to  keep  a  girl  studying  so  long?  It's 
made  [her  [so  serious.  She  says  it  made  her  serious,  made 
her  feel  and  think  a  lot,  and  see  things  in  life,  I  mean 
more  than  most  people — I  don't  know  how  to  express  it 
exactly — but  you  feel  she's  different  from  other  people. 
Of  course,  sometimes  she  laughs  and  is  just  as  gay  as  the 
rest  of  us,  but  she  can  be  serious,  oh,  just  too  dreadful  for 
anything,  and  she  says  there's  a  great  deal  in  life,  and  you 
can  get  a  great  deal  out  of  it  if  you  choose,  and  oh!  funny 
things  like  that.  I  don't  see  much  in  life — not  much 
that's  nice,  I  mean — excepting  dancing  and  ices.  Could 
you  get  me  an  ice  now,  do  you  think,  Mr.  Ethridge?  I 
really  should  like  one.  Take  me  out  on  the  terrace  and 
then  bring  me  one,  will  you?" 
v  I  took  her  out  on  the  terrace,  found  her  a  chair  and  then 


ANNA    LOMBARD.  15 

dutifully  brought  her  the  ice  and  sat  beside  her.  The 
glory  of  the  night  had  not  changed  since  I  sat  there  alone, 
only,  as  it  were,  deepened  and  grown  richer;  the  purple  sky 
above  was  throbbing,  beating,  palpitating  with  the  light  of 
stars  and  planets,  and  a  low,  large,  mellow  moon  was  sink- 
ing towards  the  horizon,  reddening  as  it  sunk.  What  a 
night  for  the  registration  or  the  consummation  of  vows! 
One  of  those  true  voluptuous  nights  when  the  soft,  hot  air 
itself  seems  to  breathe  of  the  passions. 

It  was  a  night  on  which,  as  the  Frenchman  said,  all 
women  wish  to  be  loved.  I  glanced  at  the  girl  beside  me 
and  wondered  if  she  were  moved  by  it,  but  I  thought  not; 
she  sat  sipping  her  ice  cheerfully  and  diligently — for  ice, 
like  virtue,  does  not  last  long  in  the  tropics — and  watching 
sharply  the  groups  and  couples  that  passed  across  the  lawn 
and  through  the  trees  before  us. 

"  I'm  engaged  for  the  next  dance,  so  you'd  better  take 
me  back  to  the  room,"  she  said,  as  she  set  down  the  empty 
^lass  at  last,  with  a  sigh,  on  the  stone.  "  And  I'll  intro- 
duce you  to  Anna,  if  you  like,"  she  added,  good-naturedly, 
J<  and  you'll  see  what  you  think  of  her.  Some  men  seem 
•to  like  her  awfully,  and  others  can't  get  on  with  her  a  bit." 

She  rose  and  shook  out  the  folds  of  her  immaculate  silk 
and  muslin,  and  we  went  back  to  the  ball-room. 

The  figure  in  white  was  still  seated,  calm  and  motion- 
less, on  the  fauteuil,  and  remained  so  as  we  approached. 
I  looked  at  her  hard  and  critically  as  we  came  up.  She 
had  a  tall,  strong,  beautiful  figure  and  a  face  that  was  like 
an  English  summer  day.  Her  hair  was  fair  and  clustered 
thickly  round  her  head  in  its  own  curls  and  waves.  It  was 
parted  in  the  middle,  and  was  so  thick  that  it  rose  on  each 
side  of  the  parting  as  hair  is  made  to  do  in  sculptured 
heads,  and  it  had  the  same  waving  creases  in  it,  a  few 
short,  tiny  locks  came  down  on  the  soft,  white  forehead, 
and  at  the  back  it  fell  in  a  doubled-up  plait  on  her  neck; 
her  eyes  were  blue,  like  pieces  cut  from  a  summer's  sky, 
and  her  skin  like  the  wild  rose  in  the  English  hedgerow 
first  opening  after  a  summer  shower. 

Such  was  Anna  Lombard  as  I  first  saw  her  at  the  age  of 
twenty-one. 

"  Anna,"  said  the  girl  with  me,  as  we  stopped  beside 
the fauteuil?  "Mr.  Ethridge  wants  me  to  introduce  him 
to  you.  Mr.  Ethridge — Miss  Lombard." 


iG  '  ANNA    LOMBARD. 

The  girl  addressed  looked  up  and  smiled,  and  I  was  sur- 
prised at  the  effect  of  the  smile  on  the  face;  the  red  lips 
parted  and  showed,  slightly,  perfect  white  teeth  between, 
and  the  eyes  flashed  and  seemed  to  deepen  in  color  and 
light  up  with  curious  fire. 

"  I  am  delighted  to  make  your  acquaintance,"  she  said 
in  the  conventional  manner,  and  moved  just  very  slightly 
to  one  side  of  the  fauteuil,  which  was  large,  to  indicate  I 
might  sit  down  by  her,  which  1  did. 

"  Now  you  can  amuse  yourselves,"  said  Anna's  friend, 
lightly,  as  her  partner  made  his  way  up  to  her  to  claim 
her.  "  Good-by,"  and  she  whirled  away  at  the  first  bar 
of  the  new  waltz. 

It  is  difficult  to  say  what  we  talked  of  or  what  it  was  lent 
"such  an  irresistible  charm  to  that  conversation,  but  look- 
ing back,  I  think  it  was  partly  the  great  interest  and  ani- 
mation with  which  the  girl  both  talked  and  listened.  Her 
lace  was  brilliant,  with  her  deep  blue  eyes  darkening  and 
flashing,  and  her  milky,  stainless  teeth  sparkling  through 
her  crimson  lips  as  she  laughed.  Everything  was  new  and 
Iresh  to  her  in  this  wonderful  India  of  ours,  and  life  itself 
was  just  dawning  in  all  its  beauty  before  her  mental  vision. 
Ber  childhood  had  been  passed  in  the  hardest  study  and 
closest  intellectual  training  in  a  dull,  fog-laden  old  town 
urn  the  Cornish  coast.  There,  she  told  me,  she  had  walked 
on  the  sea-beaten  sands  repeating  her  lessons  in  the  classics 
to  the  wild,  wet  winds  that  were  busy  blowing  the  color 
jnto  her  exquisite  skin,  while  her  restless,  impatient  mind 
had  been  wandering  far  off  in  the  sunny  lands  and  specu- 
lating on  those  strange  passions  and  emotions  she  was 
learning  of  through  the  lettered  pages.  And  now,  sudden- 
ly transported  to  the  vivid  glowing  East,  taken  from  that 
quiet  solitude  of  study  and  placed  in  a  whirlpool  of  human 
life  and  gayety  in  these  gorgeous  surroundings  of  Nature 
— for  nowhere  on  earth  is  there  a  more  dazzling  or  brill- 
iant arena  for  life  to  play  itself  out  than  in  India — she  was 
]ike  an  amazed,  delighted,  and  clever  child  watching  the 
curtain  rise  for  the  first  time  on  the  splendor  of  a  panto- 
mime. 

We  sat  and  talked  through  two  entire  dances,  then  as 
the  strains  of  a  particularly  seductive  waltz  reached  us  I 
asked  her  if  she  would  not  give  it  to  me,  and  she  assented, 
with — I  fancied — the  slightest  possible  flush.  She  con- 


ANNA    LOMBARD.  17 

fessed  to  me  later  that  though  she  had  been  carefully 
taught  and  made  to  practice  dancing  at  home,  this  was  her 
first  "  real  ball."  My  heart  beat  as  I  put  my  arm  round 
her  and  guided  her  among  the  dancers.  I  can  not  say  or 
divine  exactly  the  attractiveness  of  her  manner;  but  there 
was  a  sort  of  appealing  timidity  in  it  that,  united  with  such 
an  obviously  clever  and  gifted  mind  and  such  a  sweet  face 
and  form,  had  in  it  a  keen  flattery. 

I  held  her  close  to  me,  and  with  a  perfect  unity  of  step 
and  motion  we  glided  round  the  room  in  the  great  circle  of 
other  dancers.  The  warmth  of  the  slight  white  arm  on 
my  shoulder  and  the  white  breast  against  my  own,  the 
sight  of  the  fair,  animated  face,  and  a  swift  glance  now 
and  then  from  those  passionate,  blue  eyes,  seemed  working 
on  me  like  a  subtle  charm.  I  felt  happy,  contented;  India 
was  no  longer  a  gorgeous  but  barren  desert,  life  was  not 
full  of  disappointment  after  all,  and  this  ball  was  the 
greatest,  the  best,  the  most  interesting  function  I  had  ever 
attended. 

How  sweet  she  was,  this  girl;  what  a  soft,  gentle  voice; 
what  smiling,  caressing  eyes,  and  what  a  low,  slim  waist 
that  my  arm  encircled,  and  that  seemed  to  yield  so  readily 
as  if  seeking  and  desiring  protection!  When  the  music 
ceased  we  found  ourselves  in  the  outer  ring  of  dancers  and 
iust  beside  the  open  windows.  By  a  mutual  impulse  we 
both  passed  outside  on  to  the  low  stone  terrace  into  the 
soft  heat  which  yet  held  the  freshness  of  grass  and  flowers 
in  it  of  the  outer  air.  It  was  the  same  night,  the  same 
terrace  as  it  had  been  when  I  was  there  an  hour  ago,  only 
my  companion  was  changed,  and  what  a  change  that 
makes!  Anna  sunk  even  into  the  same  chair  the  other  girl 
had  sat,  and  that  was  still  there,  but  how  different  every- 
thing seemed  now  from  when  that  hard,  frivolous,  worldly 
little  doll  occupied  it.  My  heart  beat  more  quickly  than 
usual;  and  where,  an  hour  ago,  I  had  been  silent  and  quite 
indifferent  how  I  might  appear  to  my  companion,  now  my 
whole  energy  woke  up  in  an  effort  and  desire  to  please. 
Perhaps  I  succeeded,  for  smiles,  blushes,  and  laughter 
swept  by  turns  over  the  radiant,  expressive  face  raised  to 
mine  in  the  subdued  light  of  the  veranda.  She  did  not 
talk  very  much,  seeming  rather  to  wish  to  listen;  but 
everything  she  did  say  was  full  of  brightness  and  wit  and  a 
sympathetic  intelligence  that  only  comes  from  a  really 


J8  ANNA    LOMBARD. 

jlever  brain.  With  all  her  knowledge — for  I  drew  by  my 
.persistence  from  her  reluctant  lips  the  confession  of  one 
atudy  after  another  wich  which  she  was  familiar — she 
seemed  full  of  diffidence  of  herself,  and  fixed  her  large  eyes 
upon  me,  as  she  asked  me  questions,  with  the  deference  of 
an  inquiring  child.  For  the  first  time  in  my  life  I  felt  re- 
paid for  my  hard  youth  given  over  to  learning;  yes,  more 
repaid  for  those  years  of  toil  than  when  my  name  appeared 
heading  the  examination  list.  For  the  first  time  in  my  life 
the  knowledge  I  had  acquired  seemed  inexpressibly  dear 
and  valuable  to  me.  She  was  listening,  she  was  interest- 
ed, she  wanted  to  know  and  to  hear  things  that  I  could  tell 
her — things  that  Lieutenant  Jones  and  Captain  Scrubbins 
could  not  have  told  her.  She  liked  me,  I  was  sure  of  it; 
she  was  thinking  that  I  knew  something,  and  she  cared  for 
these  things  that  I  cared  for,  far  more  than  the  last  details 
of  the  pigeon-shooting  match,  the  latest  score  of  the  Gym- 
khana, the  newest  development  of  the  growing  scandal 
round  the  major's  wife,  in  all  of  which  Jones  and  Scrub- 
bins  could  easily  have  surpassed  me.  These  thoughts 
rushed  through  my  brain  as  I  leaned  over  her,  smiling  and 
exerting  myself  to  the  utmost  to  please  her,  and  the  time 
•flew  by  and  we  neither  of  us  heeded  what  was  being  played 
.or  what  dances  danced  in  the  room  behind  us  till  suddenly 
"  Home,  Sweet  Home,"  in  the  guise  of  a  waltz,  reached 
us,  and  we  realized  suddenly  the  evening — our  evening! — 
was  over.  We  both  looked  at  each  other  with  a  quick 
glance,  and  both  knew  that  we  wanted  this  dance 
with  each  other.  How  little  stiffness,  how  little  formality 
there  seems  to  be  from  the  first  when  two  people  meet  who 
are  going  to  feel  a  great  passion  one  for  the  other,  even  be- 
fore the  passion  can  be  said  to  be  lighted,  and  certainly  is 
not  recognized. 

Nature's  own  hand  seems  to  slip  loose  some  bandage 
which  is  usually  before  our  eyes,  and  we  act  with  a  certain 
tenderness,  earnestness,  and  simplicity  that  is  foreign  to 
our  usual  life  and  other  relations. 

As  we  heard  the  first  sounds  of  the  waltz,  Anna  looked 
*t  me  and  then  slipped  that  soft,  slender,  white  arm 
through  mine  with  a  little,  happy  smile,  and  I,  with  a  sud- 
den sense  of  happiness  and  delight  in  life  that  I  had  never 
known,  pressed  it  close,  and  we  joined  the  moving  circle 
within.  As  we  danced,  and  when,  at  the  corners  of  the 


ANNA    LOMBAKD.  15* 

room,  her  weight  was  thrown  on  me  slightly  and  I  caught, 
a  breath  from  her  lips  that  reminded  me  of  the  scent  oi 
the  tea-rose,  and  the  same  faint  tea-rose  scent  came  from 
the  laces  on  her  breast,  this  feeling  of  happiness  merged 
into  an  ecstasy.  It  seemed  I  had  never  known  life  before, 
and,  in  fact,  I  had  never  known  love,  not  even  any  of  its 
base  counterfeits.  The  soft  waist  yielded  the  more  ] 
pressed  it,  and  filled  me  with  an  infinitely  tender  impulse 
toward  her,  the  gentle  arm  against  my  shoulder  seemed  oi 
delicious  weight.  I  met  her  soft,  half-wondering,  innocenf- 
eyes  with  their  pleased  smile,  and  I  knew  I  was  really  alivo 
at  last. 

The  waltz  ended  somewhat  abruptly.  It  was  three  m 
the  morning  and  the  musicians  were. tired. 

"Would  you  go  and  try  and  find  my  father?"  Ann* 
asked  me.  "  He  does  not  dance,  and  I  am  afraid  he  maj 
be  getting  tired  waiting  for  me  somewhere." 

Just  as  she  spoke,  General  Lombard  came  toward  us. 
We  knew  each  other  well,  though  his  daughter,  only  hav- 
ing just  come  out,  I  had  not  seen  before  to-night. 

He  greeted  me  pleasantly,  and  when  I  asked  if  I  mighl 
call  on  the  following  day  he  assented  with  a  smile.  Their 
in  a  half-dream-like  state  of  feeling  I  escorted  them  tc* 
their  carriage,  and  a  murmured  "  Good-night "  and  & 
glance  from  two  beautiful,  passionate  eyes  out  of  the  dark- 
ness of  the  carriage  closed  the  evening  for  me. 

That  night  I  had  a  curious  and  horrible  dream — horrible 
because  it  was  filled  with  that  nameless,  causeless,  baseless 
horror  and  fear  that  only  visits  us  in  dreams.  Whatever 
may  happen  in  our  waking  life,  we  never  feel  that  same 
peculiar  dread  which  seems  reserved  for  our  brains  to  know 
only  in  sleep.  I  felt  I  was  standing  in  a  garden,  in  the 
center  of  which  a  large  and  beautiful  white  rosebud  was 
unfolding  itself  before  me,  as  I  stood  and  watched  it  with 
an  increasing  sense  of  delight.  It  was  the  only  flower  in 
the  garden  and  dominated  the  whole  scene.  At  last  the 
final  and  most  lightly  closed  petals  were  opening  and 
spreading,  and  in  an  ecstasy  I  leaned  forward  to  see  the 
heart  disclosed,  when  suddenly,  instead  of  a  heart,  a  great 
rent  was  revealed — a  jagged,  cruel  chasm  in  the  beauty  of 
the  flower — and  I  fell  back  shuddering,  a  prey  to  that 
j  groundless,  reasonless  fear  of  dreams.  I  awoke 


20  ANNA    LOMBARD. 

abruptly,  feeling  cold  in  the  sultry  tropic  night,  and  turned 
and  tossed  uneasily,  and  fell  asleep  to  dream  the  same 
dream  again.  When  I  awoke  the  second  time  I  had  a  con- 
fused feeling,  such  as  troubles  the  half-wakened  brain  in 
the  darkness  of  night,  that  my  dream  was  connected  with 
Anna.  Then  I  d — ^-d  iny  own  foolishness,  and  went  to 
sleep  for  the  third  time,  and  then  into  blank  silence  and 
rest.  The  next  morning,  waking  late,  with  the  brilliant 
sunlight  rushing  like  water  through  all  the  cracks  of  the 
closed  jilmils,  I  felt  in  excellent  spirits,  dressed  quickly, 
and  descended  to  the  dining-room  of  my  bungalow  in  the 
best  of  humors.  My  plans  for  that  day  and  many  days  to 
follow  were  distinctly  laid.  I  would  go  to  Anna,  be  with 
her,  talk  with  her,  ride  with  her,  and  then — and  then — 
and  the  rest  seemed  one  bright  flame  of  light  and  happi- 
ness. 

How  strange  it  was,  I  thought;  how  life  seemed  to  have 
quickened  in  me;  how  all  the  senses  seemed  tuning  them- 
selves to  the  enjoyment  of  existence;  how  the  compound 
seemed  to  smile  before  me,  the  scent  from  the  thousand 
opening  flowers  to  delight  me;  the  blood  seemed  spinning 
gayly  along  through  my  veins;  I  wanted  to  laugh,  hum,  or 
whistle  out  of  mere  light-heartedness,  and  what  was  it  all? 
Surely  some  electricity  had  passed  out  of  that  soft,  fail 
form  I  had  held  in  my  arms  last  night  and  kindled  a  fresh 
life  in  me.  I  sat  down  at  the  breakfast-table  and  glanced 
at  the  pile  of  letters  waiting  my  attention,  but  deferred 
opening  them  and  giving  my  thoughts  over  to  business  for 
a  few  moments  longer.  After  I  had  sipped  my  coffee  and 
mused  another  ten  minutes,  I  laid  my  hand  on  a  long,  offi- 
cial-looking letter,  and  rather  absent-mindedly  broke  it 
open  and  unfolded  it. 

I  read  the  letter  through  to  its  last  word — it  was  curt 
enough  for  that  matter — then  I  crushed  it  down  on  th& 
table  under  my  hand. 

"  D— n!    D— n  everything!" 

The  two  native  servants,  mute  bronze  statues,  though 
they  understood  no  other  word  of  English,  understood  that, 
one  of  four  letters.  They  both  started  violently.  The 
kitmargar  removed  my  unfinished  cup  of  coffee  tenderly, 
and  inquired,  softly: 

'  The  sahib  has  had  bad  news?" 

"  Yes/'  I  groaned,  and  then  added,  "  Pack  everything^ 


ANNA    LOMBAED.  21 

have  everything  ready.  We  leave  for  Burmah  by  the  night 
train." 

"  Protector  of  the  poor!"  exclaimed  the  man,  clasping 
his  hands.  "  The  sahib  is  transferred?" 

<:  Yes.  To  Lihuli,  Burmah.  You  wish  to  accompany 
me>" 

The  man  hesitated,  and  great  tears  filled  his  large,  brown 
eyes  and  then  rolled  down  his  cheeks.  They  are  hys- 
tericalj  these  natives,  and  my  news  had  startled  him. 

"  That  is  in  my  heart.  I  wish  to.  But  my  wives  ar& 
sick.  Yet  if  I  stay  I  have  no  money  for  them." 

I  knitted  my  brows.  My  own  case  dictated  more  sym« 
pathy  for  his  wives  than  I  should  otherwise  have  felt. 

"  Allah  forbid  that  I  should  take  them  from  you,  or  that 
you  should  want.  Stay  till  they  are  well,  and  I  will  seo 
you  get  the  same  pay  as  now.  When  they  are  recovered 
you  can  follow  me,  with  them,  if  you  wish.  Now  go.  I 
want  to  be  alone." 

For  all  answer  the  man  flung  himself  at  my  feet  and 
clasped  them  and  kissed  them  and  wept  over  them.  All 
of  which  is  extremely  embarrassing  to  an  Englishman,  and 
makes  him  feel  somehow  that  he  is  not  so  fine  a  thing  aa 
he  generally  takes  himself  to  be.  Then  they  withdrew, 
and  I  was  alone  in  the  room  full  of  gold  light,  reflected 
from  the  desert  through  thejilmils,  alone  with  that  letter, 
my  bad  news,  and  my  feelings.  I  stared  at  the  open  paper, 
feeling  doubtless  as  many  a  prisoner  may  have  felt  when 
shown  his  death-warrant.  How  curious  it  was,  a  flimsy 
sheet  of  paper,  with  a  few  scrawly  words — the  handwriting 
was  execrable,  I  remember — could  deal  such  a  blow  of 
deadly  pain. 

Since  a  few  moments  ago,  the  whole  situation  was 
changed  for  me:  my  hopes  of  last  night,  that  pleasant  vista 
of  days  spent  here,  that  yielding  to  the  intoxication  of  pas- 
sion for  Anna,  that  teaching  and  arousing  of  her  dormant 
soul,  and  that  drinking  at  last  of  the  one  cup  that  this  life 
holds  worth  draining — all  this  that  had  floated  before  me, 
not  as  certainties,  indeed,  but  as  delicious  possibilities,  was 
stamped  out,  and  a  hideous  reality  rose  in  its  place.  I  was 
transferred  to  Lihuli,  a  lonely,  desolate  station  in  Bur- 
mah, at  once,  and  for  five  years.  Lihuli,  or  the  place  of 
swamps!  I  read  the  letter  through  again. 


22  ANNA    LOMBARD. 

"  This  means  separation  from  Anna,  and  separation 
means  loss." 

This  is  what  1  thought  as  I  laid  it  down,  and  the  resent- 
ment against  it  was  so  great  that  a  hundred  means  of  re- 
jecting it  rose  in  my  brain.  "  Go  to  her;  carry  her  away 
by  the  storm  of  your  passion,  and  take  her  with  jou." 
Then  came  the  thought,  "  Take  her  with  you!  Where?n 
To  the  place  of  swamps;  to  a  place  where  there  is  always 
some  epidemic  raging — sometimes  it  is  called  the  black 
cholera,  sometimes  the  plague,  sometimes  smaH-pox; 
where  there  is  a  never-varying  accompaniment  of  malarial 
fever  and  dysentery;  where  the  air,  night  and  day,  is  taint- 
ed and  suffocating;  where  the  evening,  that  brings  cool- 
ness elsewhere,  brings  but  a  sickly  white,  miasma-tainted 
mist  from  the  swamps  and  clouds  of  mosquitoes;  where  the 
face  of  a  white  woman  is  never  seen;  where  there  are  no 
bands,  no  dinners,  no  dances;  and  where  there  is  nothing 
but  desert,  disease,  death,  and  duty.  How  could  I  take  her 
there?  And  if  I  could,  could  I  keep  her  there?  And  I 
shuddered.  "  Then  make  her  wait  for  you,"  was  the  next 
angry,  turbulent  thought  that  came  rolling  along  in  the 
tide  of  anger  and  resentment  that  came  surging  through 
my  brain.  "  What!  On  one  evening's  acquaintance,  ask 
for  a  girl's  love  and  faithful  waiting  for  five  years,  and 
such  a  girl  as  Anna!"  Conceited  fool  though  passion  will 
make  a  man,  still  it  had  not  blinded  me  so  far  as  that.  I 
sat  on  like  a  statue,  thinking  hard,  and  a  thousand  mad 
plans,  all  equally  impossible,  for  evading  my  duty  came 
before  me  and  were  dismissed. 

As  far  as  I  myself  was  concerned,  I  felt  no  hesitation. 
I  would  have  gone  to  her  and  spoken  freely,  gladly — oh, 
how  gladly — if  I  had  allowed  myself  to  be  swayed  by  my 
own  impulses,  though  I  had  known  her  but  a  few  hours. 
It  is  not  in  the  nature  of  things  that  a  great  passion,  or 
even  that  embryo  which  is  to  become  a  great  passion, 
should  admit  of  hesitation.  These  feelings  sweep  over  the 
human  being  resistlessly.  They  do  not  permit  him  to 
argue  or  reason  with  them;  they  dictate.  And,  moreover, 
they  carry  with  them  a  conviction  to  his  mind  which  ren- 
ders argument  unnecessary.  Lesser  emotions,  I  admit, 
allow  of  reasoning  this  way  and  that,  and  weighing  and 
considering;  and  doubtless  more  than  half  the  men  in  the 
world  have  long  periods  of  oscillation  before  they  say  those 


ANHA    LOMBARD.  23 

^revocable  words  I  would  have  said  so  willingly  now,  with- 
«mt  a  tremor;  but  this  vacillation  only  proves  that  the 
voman  they  are  so  considering  is  not  the  one  of  all  this  life 
for  them,  and  she  will  never  be  the  object  of  the  intensest 
paasion  they  are  capable  of.  The  case  is  much  the  same 
as  that  of  a  man  waiting  in  the  street  to  meet  some  friend 
of  vhose  appearance  long  absence  or  other  causes  have 
made  him  not  quite  sure.  How  anxiously  he  scans  each 
one  of  the  passers-by,  and  fifty  times  imagines  he  sees  a  re- 
semblance about  which  he  debates  in  his  mind — is  that  he 
or  is  it  not?  And  only  hesitates  thus  because  each  of  these 
is  not  the  man.  When  the  friend  appears,  his  glance 
lights  on  him,  he  recognizes  him.  That  is  the  man;  there 
is  no  question,  no  doubt,  no  hesitation.  And  he  walks  up 
to  him  with  outstretched  hand.  Similarly  my  mind  instinct- 
ively and  unconsciously  had  been  waiting,  as  the  mind  of 
every  man  not  occupied  with  passion  is  practically  waiting, 
for  the  woman  to  pass  by  me  in  the  way  of  life  that  was 
*-he  fulfillment  of  the  indefinite  standard  in  my  thoughts. 
Others  who  were  not  such  women  might  come  and  go,  and, 
moved  by  resemblances,  I  might  have  hesitated  and  looked 
and  hesitated  again;  but  Anna  had  stepped  up  to  me  in 
tfie  stream  of  human  traffic  that  goes  up  and  down  the 
Way,  and  my  mind  had  instantly  recognized  her,  and  my 
hand  was  outstretched,  and  there  was  no  hesitation  and  no 
doubt. 

Doubtless,  if  more  time  had  been  allowed  me,  I  should 
have  used  it,  out  of  a  sense  of  the  fitness  of  things,  de- 
corum, and,  above  all,  deference  to  the  girl  herself;  but 
even  then  it  would  have  been  the  shortest  time  I  could  have 
set.  Indeed,  I  knew  that  the  impulse  to  caress  her,  to 
clasp  her  in  my  arms  and  know  her  to  be  my  own  would 
be  a  difficult  one  to  hold  down  by  the  throat  for  long.  So 
that  the  prospect  of  being  forced  to  speak  at  once  would 
not  have  been  terrifying  in  the  least  to  me,  if  only — and  I 
groaned  out  loud.  Circumstances  seemed  so  willfully  and 
needlessly  to  have  arrayed  themselves  against  me.  Had  I 
been  ordered  to  a  hill  station,  one  with  even  a  moderately 
good  climate  and  where  white  life  was  not  wholly  exclud- 
ed, I  might  have  had  courage  enough  to  ask  her  to  occupy 
a  large,  cool,  rose-covered  bungalow,  situated  somewhere 
where  the  breezes  came,  and  to  continue  her  gay,  brilliant 
life  of  dances  and  dinners  and  idle  amusements  as  the  wife 


24  ANNA    LOMBARD. 

of  an  assistant  commissioner  instead  of  the  daughter  of  a 
general;  but  I  could  not  take  a  girl,  straight  from  Eng- 
land, to  share  with  me  a  fever-  and  cholera-haunted  swamp, 
even  if  she  would  come.  Somehow  1  did  not  feel  who/ly 
certain  that  she  would  not  come,  and  her  smiling  eyes,  as 
they  had  looked  at  me  last  night,  swam  before  me.  I 
lifted  my  head  and  glanced  involuntarily  down  the  break- 
fast-table to  where,  at  the  end,  a  large  and  brilliant  mirror 
in  my  sideboard  gave  me  back  a  reflection  of  myself.  It 
recurred  to  me  suddenly,  then,  that  I  was  usually  consid- 
ered good-looking,  and  my  heart  gave  a  beat  of  pleasure. 
I  had  never  thought  of  nor  valued  the  fact  before;  but  just 
as  last  night,  for  the  first  time,  I  had  felt  thankful  for  my 
little  store  of  learning,  so  now  for  the  first  time  I  recalled 
with  genuine  pleasure  the  general  verdict  of  my  friends, 
(t  is,  perhaps,  rather  to  the  credit  of  the  human  being  in 
general  that  he  or  she  thinks  invariably  little  of  any  per- 
sonal gift  until  the  question  arises  of  pleasing  some  other 
by  it.  I  looked  again  at  the  glass.  Yes,  the  features  of 
that  face  looking  back  at  me  were  straight  and  perfectly 
regular,  the  skin  pale  and  clear,  the  eyes  large,  and  eye- 
brows and  hair  as  black  as  an  Asiatic's;  and  I  remembered 
delightedly  that  fair  people  always  incline  naturally  to  and 
admire  those  who  are  dark,  and  vice-versd.  Nature's 
craving  to  return  to  the  type  which  is  neither  extreme  in 
all  cases  has  mixed  that  inviolable  instinct  with  men's  and 
women's  desire.  Then  the  next  instant  that  little  rush  of 
vain  egotism  and  self-contentment  had  passed.  Though 
she  consented  a  hundred  times  I  could  not  take  her  to  that 
horror  of  desolation  and  disease  that  I  was  ordered  to.  It 
was  quite,  quite  impossible,  and  I  put  my  head  down  in 
my  hands,  ashamed  that  for  an  instant  it  had  seemed  so 
possible. 

At  the  end  of  an  hour  and  a  half  I  rose,  put  on  my  solar 
topee,  and  walked  out  of  my  compound  toward  the  Lom- 
bards' bungalow  to  make  the  promised  call — only  now  it 
was  a  farewell  one.  When  I  reached  the  house,  the  serv- 
ants told  me  the  Miss  Sahib  had  had  breakfast  one  hour 
ago  and  had  gone  out,  but  only  into  the  compound,  and  if 
I  would  wish  to  wait  in  the  drawing-room  they  would  take 
my  card  to  her.  I  gave  the  man  a  rupee  and  told  him  to 
go  within  himself,  and  that  I  would  seek  the  Miss  Sahib  in 
the  compound.  With  an  intelligent  smile  of  perfect  com- 


ANNA    LOMBARD.  25 

prehension  and  a  salaam  of  profoundest  gratitude  the  man 
withdraw  into  the  cool  darkness  of  the  hall  again,  and  I 
redescended  into  the  wilderness  of  blooming  beauty  and 
glaring  light  of  the  compound. 

I  threaded  my  way  quietly  through  the  tangle  of  blos- 
som-laden and  flowering  trees,  glancing  on  every  side  as  I 
parted  them,  not  knowing  at  what  minute  I  might  come 
upon  her.  The  morning  was  unusually  hot,  the  sun 
seemed  to  have  a  peculiar  intensity  and  its  fiery  beams  to 
be  distilling  the  utmost  of  their  perfume  from  the  flowers. 
As  I  advanced  farther  into  the  compound  I  became  con. 
scious  of  a  damper,  cooler  air  and  of  a  mossy  woodland 
scent;  the  gurgle  of  water  reached  me,  and  then  at  the 
next  step  forward  I  stood  motionless  and  spellbound:  the 
girl  herself  was  before  me  and  unconscious  of  my  presence 
— asleep.  In  the  thick,  cool  shade  thrown  by  a  luxuriant' 
Jy  tangled  cluster  of  bamboo-trees  stood  a  low,  broad, 
stone  couch  covered  with  thick,  square  velvet-and-satin 
cushions — a  Turkish  divan,  in  fact — in  the  open;  and  one 
prepared,  evidently,  with  skill  and  care,  for  all  round  the 
stone  base  was  hollowed  out  a  groove  filled  to  the  rim  with 
water,  thus  forming  an  impassable  trench  to  the  innumer- 
able tree  ants  of  enormous  size,  that  were  crawling  in  black 
ribbons  over  the  mossy  ground.  And  on  this  couch,  fully 
extended,  with  arm  above  her  head,  lay  the  girl  tranquilly 
asleep.  Noiselessly,  hardly  breathing,  I  stepped  closer  andl 
looked  down  upon  her.  She  was  wearing  a  loose  garment 
of  white  cambric  that  was  unfastened  at  the  neck  and 
showed  the  whole  of  the  beautiful,  solid,  white  throat  at  it* 
base,  but  which,  of  its  own  will  apparently,  closed  itself 
completely  over  the  softly  rising  and  falling  bosom;  the 
head  was  thrown  back,  and  her  face,  fresh  as  a  flower,  was 
upturned;  the  cheeks  were  like  the  petals  of  the  wild  rose, 
the  mouth  deep  crimson  like  a  pomegranate  bud,  and  hei 
light  hair,  ruffled  and  loosened,  fell  in  glistening  waves 
over  the  arm  beneath,  white  and  bare — for  the  kindly 
sleeve  was  loose  and  wide  and  had  fallen  back  from  it  almost 
to  the  shoulder.  So  might  have  Aurora  herself,  wearied 
with  tending  the  flowers,  been  found  sleeping  in  the  Ely- 
sian  fields.  I  stood  entranced,  letting  my  eyes  travel  rev- 
erently over  the  sleeping  form.  The  cambric  was  delicate 
and  transparent  almost  as  a  cobweb,  but  its  multitudinous 
folds  veiled  all  but  the  beautiful  outlines;  the  hem  of  the 


LOMBAKD. 

garment  seemed  lost  in  the  flounces  of  lace,  or  perhaps 
these  came  from  some  other  under  one,  and  from  these 
issued  two  bare  white  insteps,  the  rest  of  the  feet  being 
cased  in  little  indoor  shoes.  Beyond  those  delicate  white 
feet  was  quite  a  long  space  of  the  divan,  covered  with  a 
velvet  cloth  of  cashmere  work,  and  o&  this,  mechanically, 
I  took  my  seat.  I  had  no  thought  of  waking  her.  Awake, 
she  would  become  Miss  Lombard  and  I,  Mr.  Ethridge,  con- 
ventional words  would  be  spoken  in  conventional  tones;  it 
must  be  so,  and  what  words  could  give  any  idea  of  the 
rushing  tide  of  regret  and  sorrow  and  disappointment  that 
was  rolling  through  my  brain  at  leaving  her.  No,  this 
silence,  this  perfect  harmony  of  beauty  suited  best  our 
farewells.  A  deep,  unbroken  silence  lay  over  all  the  com- 
pound, a  heat  that  seemed  of  deadly  weight  fell  from  the 
brazen  sky,  and  the  transparent  air  seemed  to  quiver  in  it. 
But  here  in  the  deep  shade  of  the  feathery  bamboo  there 
was  coolness  and  perfect  peace.  A  large  tank  of  water, 
reflecting  the  branches  overhead  till  it  looked  like  liquid 
emerald,  stood  bedded  in  the  moss  close  by,  and  the  tiny 
trickle  and  gurgle  of  water  flowing  from  it  round  the  couch 
seemed  to  intensify  the  sense  of  surrounding  coolness. 
What  a  scene  it  was!  One  possible  only,  perhaps,  in  India, 
where  the  stream  of  Saxon  civilization,  with  all  its  rich- 
ness, comfort  and  wealth,  flows  abruptly  into  the  wonders 
of  native  Indian  beauty,  into  that  store  of  gorgeous  color- 
ing, of  blossoms  without  name,  of  scents  without  defini- 
tion, of  skies  and  gardens  past  belief.  Beyond  the  com- 
pound lay  a  sea  of  radiant  color,  a  wild  confusion  of 
pomegranate  crimson  and  rose-pink  and  syringa  white, 
that  seemed  swaying  under  the  dazzling  effulgence  of 
golden  light.  Over  it  hovered  lazily  from  flower  to  flower 
great  butterflies  large  as  one's  two  hands  put  together  and 
blue  as  though  they  were  fallen  fragments  of  the  sky  itself; 
and  now  and  then  a  crimson-headed  paroquet  or  golden 
oriole  would  fly  silently  across  from  bamboo  to  palm. 
Nearer  me,  the  cool  green  shadow,  the  flowing  water,  the 
white  stone  couch,  the  sleeping  girl.  Could  Milton  have 
seen  anywhere  a  fairer  vision  for  his  Eden,  Theocritus 
toave  dreamed  lovelier  things  for  his  idyls,  or  the  ancients 
have  imagined  more  for  their  Elysian  fields? 

But  such  surroundings  are  every-day  and  commonplace 
in  India  and  the  birthright  of  every  Briton.     My  eyes 


ANNA    LOMBARD.  27 

wandered  everywhere  and  then  came  back  to  rest  upon  the 
sleeping  girl.  How  calmly  and  deeply  she  slept!  How 
unconscious  of  the  excited  heart  beating  so  near  her!  So 
this  was  to  be  the  end  of  a  passion  but  just  lighted,  the  end 
to  that  new  life  which  had  rushed  through  my  veins  when 
I  held  her  in  the  dance.  A  passing  away  in  silence  while 
she  slept.  And  yet  I  did  not  think  it  would  be  the  end.  I 
had  a  dim  prescience  that  this  tranquil,  sleeping  form  was 
bound  up  inextricably  with  my  future;  but  I  also  felt  that 
never  again  should  I  behold  her  as  she  now  was,  in  the 
fresh,  pure,  unsullied  morning  of  her  youth  and  virginity. 
It  is  strange  how  these  vague,  dim  thoughts  pass  through 
our  brains,  as  if  sometimes  our  future  were  vaguely  reflect- 
ed in  some  dark  and  misty  mirror,  and  being  only  stray, 
idle  fancies,  as  we  think,  we  take  no  notice  of  them.  It  is 
only  afterward,  sometimes,  a  startling  remembrance  re- 
bounds upon  us  from  the  past  and  we  recollect  what  we 
have  thought. 

A  great  sadness  seized  upon  me  and  pervaded  me,  and 
for  a  moment  the  temptation  came  over  me  to  awaken  her 
by  kisses  on  those  ivory  feet  so  near  me,  awaken  her  and 
make  her  listen  to  me.  Surely  this  enchanting  scene,  this 
languorous  Nature  that  seemed  everywhere  bestowing  her 
caresses,  breathing  into  everything  her  rich  fervor  of  life 
would  favor  me.  How  could  I  not  tell  that  this  sensitive, 
impressionable  girl,  wakened  suddenly  by  a  passionate  kiss 
in  the  garden  where  all  was  glowing,  sense-inflaming 
beauty,  would  not  be  inclined  toward  me?  My  heart  beat 
violently;  for  an  instant  I  swayed  and  had  almost  clasped 
that  smooth  instep.  Then  I  stayed  myself,  and  the  grim 
realities  rose  before  me.  What  had  I  to  suggest?  And 
again  the  reasoning  of  the  morning  passed  through  my 
brain.  Five  years  of  waiting  for  me  here — waiting,  for 
her;  she  ardent,  impetuous,  just  roused  to  a  sense  of  the 
joy  of  life,  and  eager,  impatient  to  stretch  out  her  hands 
to  its  glittering  toys;  or  five  years'  banishment  with  me  to 
a  notoriously  dangerous  and  desolate  spot  in  the  Burinah 
swamps!  No!  I  could  not  be  such  a  selfish  fool  as  to 
offer  either.  The  decision  was  the  same  as  I  had  come  to 
before,  and  must  be  the  same  if  I  thought  of  it  a  hundred 
times.  I  sat  on  there  in  silence,  steeped  in  a  dull  sense  of 
pain,  and  she,  wearied  and  fatigued  by  the  long  hours  of 
last  night,  slept  on  without  a  movement  or  a  murmur. 


iS  ANNA    LOMBARD. 

My  Aurora  with  the  wonderfully  smooth,  round,  delicately 
tinted  cheeks,  and  the  long,  black  lashes  curling  upward 
go  that  I  thought  each  moment  the  lids  were  just  opening! 
Well,  I  would  leave  her,  but  it  should  not  be  in  absolute 
silence,  and  I  took  out  my  pocket-book  and  tore  two  or 
ttiree  leaves  from  it,  and  covered  them  closely  with  words. 
First  I  gave  her  the  text  of  the  command,  verbatim,  as  I 
had  received  it.  Then  I  described  Lihuli  as  I  knew  it, 
and  then  I  merely  added  my  farewells.  When  I  had  fin- 
ished it  I  drew  off  the  amethyst  signet  ring  I  always  wore, 
and  adding  a  line  to  beg  her  to  keep  it  as  a  trifling  souve- 
nir of  me,  I  rolled  the  paper  round  and  thrust  it  through 
the  circle.  Then  I  rose,  and  leaning  over  the  couch,  drew 
Hown  a  flexible  spray  of  bamboo  and  bent  it  over  in  an 
arch,  fastening  the  end  to  a  niche  in  the  stone  side  of  her 
resting-place;  from  this  arch  I  suspended  the  ring  and  the 
little  scroll  by  a  tendril.  It  hung  just  over  her  bosom, 
and  she  could  not  rise  without  first  breaking  or  detaching 
the  bamboo  and  seeing  the  ring.  Then  I  looked  down 
upon  her  with  an  immense  tenderness  and  reverence — 
though  that  was  nothing  to  the  tenderness  I  was  to  feel 
jater — fixing  that  fresh,  pure  face  in  my  heart,  and  then 
moved  away  softly  as  I  had  come.  It  was  time.  As  I  re- 
traced my  steps  through  the  blazing  compound  I  heard  the 
wheels  of  the  general's  carriage  on  the  gravel.  A  few 
moments  more  and  she  would  be  awake,  or  be  awakened. 
Those  minutes  of  silent  calm  and  beauty,  that  glimpse  into 
the  Elysian  fields  was  a  thing  of  the  past.  My  face  was 
turned  to  the  practical,  every-day  life  and  duties  of  a  civil 
commissioner. 


CHAPTER  if. 

WHEN  my  train  drew  into  Lihuli  it  was  evening,  and  a 
refreshing  softness  filled  the  heavjr,  magnolia-scented  air. 
No  other  European  was  going-  to  alight  at  this  station,  and 
I  saw  my  solitary  carriage  waiting  fof  me  beyond  the  plat- 
form. It  was  a  golden  evening;  everything  seemed  gold, 
and  not  a  glaring,  but  a  soft,  melting  goW.  The  sky,  the 
air,  the  motionless  •palms,  eveh  the  broad  road  down  which 
my  carriage  rolled— <for  a  short,  tawny  moss  grew  all  over 
it,  and  caught  and.  gave  back  the  brilliant  amber  light. 
We  had  driven  for  about  fifteen  minutes  when  the  first 


ANNA    LOMBARD.  29 

bungalow  came  into  view.  It  was  a  low,  white  stone,  flat- 
roofed  building,  from  the  side  view  almost  buried  in 
banana-trees;  then,  as  we  drove  on,  I  saw  it  faced  on  to 
the  road  with  a  great,  broad,  inviting  veranda  full  of  long 
cane  chairs. 

"  Club-house — gymkhana,  sahib,"  volunteered  the  driv- 
er, slackening  his  pace,  and  I  saw  four  or  five  men,  clad  in 
what  looked  like  sleeping-suits,  troop  through  the  window 
on  to  the  veranda.  They  waved  their  hands  and  set  up  a 
feeble  cheer  as  they  caught  sight  of  me.  They  all  had  the 
same  blanched,  pinched-looking  faces,  wan  eyes  and  dry 
white  lips.  I  stopped  the  carriage,  and  they  came  half- 
way down  the  steps  to  meet  me  as  1  got  out. 

"  Very  glad  to  welcome  you  to  Lihuli,"  one  of  them 
eaid.  "  Train  must  have  come  in  early  or  we'd  have 
met  it." 

They  all  looked  so  sickly  and  listless,  like  men  one  sees 
hanging  round  the  balconies  of  public  hospitals  or  con- 
valescent homes,  that  the  idea  of  their  doing  anything  so 
far  requiring  an  effort  as  meeting  their  new  deputy  com- 
missioner seemed  rather  a  joke  than  anything  else.  I 
merely  laughed  and  suffered  them  to  guide  me  up  to  the 
veranda,  where  there  was  an  informal  and  hazy  introduc- 
tion. 

"  That's  Jones,  of  the  railway  survey,  and  Knight  of  the 
telegraph  here;  and  this  is  Doctor  Kennings— you'll  prob- 
ably have  a  close  acquaintance  with  him  pretty  soon — and 
Hunter,  engineer,  and  these  two  kids  Seymour  and  Robert- 
son. Sit  down  and  we'll  have  some  pegs.  What  do  you 
take?" 

They  pulled  up  a  small  table,  and  giving  me  the  most 
prominent  chair,  they  drew  their  own  round  me  and  pro- 
ceeded to  pump  me  for  news. 

"  It's  a  perfect  Godsend  to  see  a  new  face,"  remarked 
Knight,  after  we  had  been  talking  pretty  briskly  for  some 
minutes. 

"  We've  had  no  com  since  poor  old  Burke  went  crazy 
and  shot  himself." 

I  saw  one  of  the  other  fellows  kick  the  speaker  furtively 
under  the  little  bamboo  table. 

"  Burke  was  the  last  man — the  com,  I  suppose?"  I 
queried.  "  What  sent  him  mad?" 

"  Oh,  I  suppose  the — the  heat,  and  being  alone,  you 


WO  ANNA.    LOMBARD. 

jnow,"  stammered  Knight,  confused  by  the  [kick  on  his 
thins  and  looking  guilty.  "  But  the  bungalow  has  been 
renovated,  and,  in  fact,  the  room  where — where  it  hap- 
pened has  been  pulled  down,  and  he  left  a  note  saying  he 
was  glad  to  go,  and  the  change  to  the  cooler  climate  of 
h would  do  him  good.  He  seemed  quite  content." 

"  You  d d  fool!"  muttered  his  vis-a-vis,  glaring  at 

him  over  the  glasses  of  long  straws.  "  What  do  you  want 
to  tell  him  all  that  for  the  first  night?" 

I  laughed. 

"  I'm  not  afraid  of  ghosts,"  I  said  lightly;  "  and  so  far, 
it  seems  as  cool  here  as  one  could  reasonably  expect  below." 

"  Oh,  yes,  it  will  be  all  right  until  it  rains,"  chimed  in 
Hunter;  "  and  a  man's  all  right  here  if  he  can  only  adapt 
toimself.  You  must  settle  down,  take  a  wife,  and  live  regu- 
larly. Burke  never  did.  He  was  always  fretting  for  some 
girl  in  England." 

"  Take  a  wife!"  I  echoed  in  surprise. 

"  Yes,  a  Burmese  wife.  Oh,  don't  look  so  contemptu- 
ous. You'll  come  to  it.  They  most  of  them  do,  and  it 
eaves  time  and  trouble  to  settle  down  at  once.  Now,  to- 
morrow morning  you  will  have  an  assortment  brought  to 
you.  Your  choice — as  the  American  stories  advertise — for 
one  hundred  rupees  down,  and  the  remainder  in  install- 
ments later.  She  will  then  be  contracted  to  you  for  five 
fears;  that's  your  appointment  here,  isn't  it?  Yes,  very 
good.  Then  you'll  have  some  one  at  the  head  of  your 
Fable  and  to  look  after  your  house  for  you;  they're  first- 
rate  little  housekeepers,  though  they  don't  look  it.  Then 
you'll  enjoy  legitimate  matrimony  for  five  years,  and  when 
your  time's  up  you  pay  the  bill  and  say  good-by,  and 
there's  no  trouble." 

The  other  men  listened  in  listless  indifference,  and  one 
or  two  nodded  in  confirmation  of  their  companion's  state- 
ment when  he  had  finished.  I  myself  knew  enough  of  the 
customs  of  Burmah  to  know  that  he  was  not  chaffing  or 
jesting.  I  had  heard  of  these  Anglo-Burmese  marriages 
before,  and  how  the  Burmah  girl,  at  the  end  of  the  white 
man's  term,  goes  back  to  the  nouse  of  her  parents,  some- 
times with  two  or  three  children  of  mixed  blood,  and  is  in 
no  way  looked  down  upon  by  her  own  people  for  the  same, 
and  is  probably  eventually  married  to  one  of  her  own 
caste. 


ANtfA    LOMBARD.  31 

I  suppressed  a  yawn. 

"  My  own  company,  study,  and  books  will  be  more  tt> 
my  taste,"  I  answered. 

Hunter  looked  at  me  pityingly. 

"  This  is  a  country,"  he  said,  impressively,  "  in  which 
a  man  can  live,  but  he  can  not  live  alone.  But  you  can 
try  it,  of  course — as  Burke  and  others  have." 

Then  there  was  a  pause,  and  it  seemed  as  if  a  chill  had 
come  into  the  lambent,  yellow  air.  Then,  as  a  welcome 
distraction,  the  doctor  suggested  we  should  go  inside  and 
dine,  and  we  all  rose  with  alacrity. 

The  dining-room  was  a  large,  lofty,  airy  room,  and  they 
seemed  to  possess  excellent  wines,  soda-water,  and  spirits- 
at  least  that  kind  that  can  be  kept  in  bottles  and  well' 
hung  punJcaJts  swung  briskly  the  whole  time. 

We  sat  long  over  our  coffee  and  smoked  and  gossiped, 
and  my  new  presence  seemed  to  make  them  all  quite  cheer- 
ful. It  was  late,  and  the  moon  had  risen  before  they  put 
me  into  my  carriage  again,  and  with  cordial  good-nighta 
watched  me  drive  off  to  my  own  bungalow  down  the  steam j 
road  that  looked  misty  in  the  moonlight,  and  where  the 
wheels  moved  without  sound  over  the  spongy  yellow  moss. 

The  next  morning,  as  soon  as  it  was  light,  I  was  awak- 
ened by  the  sound  of  subdued  but  incessant  and  eager  chat- 
tering, apparently  just  beneath  my  window.  I  got  up  from 
the  charpoy,  disentangled  myself  from  my  mosquito  cur 
tains,  pushed  open  the  jilmils  of  the  nearest  window,  and 
looked  out.  What  a  scene  it  was  to  meet  the  eyes — espe- 
cially eyes  like  mine,  not  yet  satiated  with,  nor  even  ac- 
customed to,  the  splendors  of  the  East!  The  sun  had  not 
yet  risen,  only  a  golden  glow  intensifying  every  instant 
near  the  horizon  in  an  otherwise  pearly  sky  heralded  ite 
approach.  The  compound  stretching  beneath  my  windov 
and  all  round  the  house  was  one  mass  of  roses  of  every  tint 
and  shape  and  size;  toward  the  gate  of  the  compound  and 
all  round  the  walls  were  clumps  of  the  broad-leaved 
banana-tree  swaying  in  the  slight  breeze  of  the  dawn,  and 
two  or  three  trees  of  Bougainvillea  bursting  through,  from 
between  them,  stood  pouring  their  torrents  of  magenta 
blossoms  to  the  ground;  there  is  no  other  way  to  express 
it,  for  the  parasite  grown  to  a  tree  yet  can  not  forget  its 
nature,  but  trails  its  branches  to  the  ground,  and  for  yards 
round  the  tree-roots  the  earth  has  a  carpet  of  its  pinkish 


32  ANNA    LOMBARD. 

violet  flowers.  Beyond  the  walls  and  broad-leaved  banana- 
trees  stretched  miles  of  golden  sand,  like  a  calm,  golden 
sea,  broken  here  and  there  by  green  islands  of  cocoanut 
palm,  that  moved  languidly  against  the  pale-growing  azun» 
of  the  sky.  One  glance  took  in  all  this  beauty,  and  my 
curiosity  as  to  the  voices  returned.  I  looked  through  the 
network  of  giant  convolvulus  that  completely  covered  one 
side  of  the  house,  and  peering  between  the  great  violet  and 
white  cups  of  the  flowers,  I  saw  beneath,  seated  in  a  circle 
in  a  small  open  space  of  turf,  an  old  native  woman  and 
five  other  evidently  younger  women  round  her.  I  could 
only  partially  see  them,  but  they  appeared  to  be  in  festive 
attire,  and  suddenly  the  warning  at  the  club  last  night 
came  back  to  me.  These  were,  no  doubt,  the  threatenec* 
"  wives."  With  mingled  disgust  and  amusement  I  with. 
drew  from  the  window  and  commenced  my  toilet,  the  chat . 
tering  and  jabbering  continuing  unabated  the  whole  time, 
sometimes  rising  to  a  shrill  clamor,  and  then  sinking  to 
almost  whispers.  I  went  down  to  my  dining-room,  where 
breakfast  was  waiting  for  me,  and  which  I  had  perfectly 
undisturbed,  then  the  servant  withdrew  and  I  lapsed  into 
thought,  swinging  absently  on  my  chair  and  staring  up  to 
the  roof,  which  was  high  enough  from  the  floor  for  the  bate 
to  come  in  and  hang  there  in  quiet  comfort. 

Suddenly  the  lattice  door  was  pushed  open,  and  the  old 
woman  I  had  seen  in  the  compound  entered,  followed  by 
the  five  little  women,  all  holding  one  another's  hands,  and 
grinning  the  whole  width  of  their  little,  painted  mouthy 
They  were  all  dressed  in  very  tight,  narrow  petticoats — so 
narrow  that  they  produced  the  effect  of  a  bolster-case  or 
one  wide  trouser-leg — these  were  of  different  gay-colored 
silks,  and  reached  just  to  the  little  ankles  of  the  wearei, 
which  were  loaded  with  blue  china  bangles.  Above,  they 
each  wore  a  silk  zouave,  heavily  embroidered,  which,  while 
it  covered  each  breast,  left  the  space  between  them  ex- 
posed; their  throats  were  quite  bare  and  peculiarly  round, 
smooth,  and  boneless;  their  arms  were  bare  except  for 
countless  glass  and  china  bangles,  and  they  all  wore  flow- 
ers stuck  in  their  straight,  oily,  black  hair  and  behind  their 
ears.  The  old  woman  flung  herself  flat  on  the  floor  before 
me,  with  her  forehead  pressed  to  the  ground,  and  the  fiv*» 
little  creatures  went  down  on  their  hands  and  knees,  duck' 
ing  their  flower-decked  heads,  and  subjecting  the  absurdly 


ANNA    LOMBARD.  33 

tight,  silk  petticoat  to  a  terrible  strain  over  the  broadest 
part  of  their  small  persons.  After  her  obeisance,  the  old 
woman  sat  up  and  addressed  me  in  a  flow  of  excellent  Hin- 
dustani. She  had  heard  that  the  sahib,  who  was  her  father 
and  mother  and  the  protector  of  the  poor,  had  come  to 
shed  the  light  of  his  most  glorious  countenance,  which  was 
like  the  sun  rising  in  majesty  upon  Lihuli,  and  she  had 
hastened  her  aged  footsteps  to  minister  to  the  wants  of  the 
sahib,  and  she  brought  him  five  flowers  of  the  morning, 
and  he  was  to  stretch  forth  his  kingly  hand  and  indicate 
which  would  best  suit  him  for  a  wife.  When  she  paused, 
the  five  little  girls  also  sat  up  and  eyed  me  somewhat  anx- 
iously. Some  chalk  or  white  paste  had  been  rubbed  over 
their  faces  to  simulate  the  Aryan  complexion,  and  a  round, 
pink  spot  painted  in  the  middle  of  the  cheek.  Their  faces 
were  Mongolian  in  type,  more  like  the  Chinese  face  than 
any  other,  but  the  mouths  were  soft  and  pretty.  Their 
diminutiveness  was  the  most  striking  thing  about  them. 
They  seemed  like  little  children. 

"  How  old  are  they?"  I  asked  the  woman. 

"  Eleven,  twelve,  and  thirteen,"  she  answered,  sharply, 
looking  at  me  suspiciously.  "  Surely  the  sahib  doesn't 
think  that  too  old?" 

"  Old!  Good  God!  no;  they're  not  old  enough,"  I  re- 
turned— speaking,  of  course,  always  in  her  vernacular. 

The  old  woman  looked  relieved,  and  pulling  forward  the 
biggest  one  by  the  arm,  she  brought  her  close  up  to  me. 

*'  See  here,"  she  proceeded,  "  she's  plump  and  good- 
sized." 

With  this  she  pinched  the  girl's  bosom,  and  dug  her  fin- 
gers into  her  neck  precisely  as  poulterers  pinch  the  breasts 
of  their  fowls  for  customers. 

After  that,  she  went  into  various  details  pertaining  to 
the  girl  with  a  degree  of  frankness  that  makes  it  impossi- 
ble to  repeat  them.  I  sat  back  in  my  chair,  surveying  the 
scene  with  amazement  at  the  strange  commingling  of  ideas 
— these  little,  half-formed  things,  and  wifehood,  mother- 
hood, and  the  modest  Anglo-Indian  Government  that  will 
not  have  the  word  prostitution  printed  in  the  newspapers, 
and  yet  countenances  such  things  as  these.  For  all  this 
was  perfectly  legal,  and  the  girls  probably  all  came  from 
Burmah  families  of  some  standing. 

"  Here,  Nanee,"  exclaimed  the  old  woman  to  another 


34  ANNA    LOMBARD. 

of  them — perhaps  the  prettiest  of  them  all — "  go  up  and 
make  yourself  amiable  to  the  gentleman." 

At  this  Nanee  approached  in  little,  bare,  velvet  feet, 
and  nestled  close  to  my  side,  one  tiny  hand,  soft  as  satin, 
absurdly  flexible  at  the  wrist,  and  seemingly  perfectly  bone- 
less, she  placed  on  my  knee,  and  looking  up  straight  at 
me,  she  lisped,  softly,  "  Ashik  karti,"  or  "  I  love  you," 
to  show  me  she  too  could  speak  Hindustani. 

I  looked  down  on  her  with  a  smile.  The  idea  of  love 
seemed  to  me  ludicrous.  What  could  I  do  with  this  little 
atom  of  doll-like,  child-like  life?  But  I  smiled  upon  her 
as  one  does  on  a  pretty  child  asking  for  a  kiss. 

"  Now,  which  will  the  sahib,  who  is  lord  of  all  the 
virtues,  decide  upon — Nanee  or  Lalee?"  asked  the  old 
woman,  in  a  business-like  tone. 

I  saw  it  was  time  to  negative  the  matter  at  once,  and  I 
said,  decidedly: 

"  I  am  not  in  want  of  a  wife,  and  I  have  no  intention  of 
taking  one." 

The  old  woman  fell  back,  sitting  on  her  heels,  and 
stared^  at  me  blankly. 

"  B"ut,  sahib,  protector  of  the  poor,  you  are  here  for  five 
years;  no  white  woman  at  all  in  Lihuli,  no  woman  allowed 
in  bazaar!  What  will  you  do?" 

Five  years!  So  she  knew  the  exact  length  of  my  ap- 
pointment, probably  the  amount  of  my  salary  and  private 
income  to  an  anna.  They  know  everything,  these  people. 
I  looked  up  and  saw,  standing  just  inside  my  door,  patient- 
ly waiting  till  the  market  should  be  concluded,  a  clerk  with 
a  long  strip  of  paper  and  a  bundle  of  reed  pens  in  his 
hands.  His  duty  was  to  make  out  the  agreement  between 
us,  and  give  me  a  receipt  for  any  money  paid  on  account. 

"  I  don't  know,"  I  said,  abruptly.  "  When  I  want  a 
wife  I  will  send  for  one.  I  don't  want  one  now.  I  have 
spoken." 

"  Let  the  sahib  think  once  more.  He  may  look  from 
one  end  of  Lihuli  to  the  other  and  he  will  not  find  such 
buds  from  the  garden  of  Paradise  as  these  again." 

I  glanced  at  the  buds  of  Paradise  and  saw  that  their  lit- 
tle faces  had  grown  sad  and  wistful  as  they  heard  my  deci- 
sion. 

"  They  are  beautiful  beyond  comparison,"  I  said  to  re- 
assure them,  and  perhaps  save  them  from  the  old  woman's 


ANNA    LOMBARD.  35 

wrath;  "  but  I  have  no  need  «£  them.  If  I  had,  there  are 
none  I  could  wish  better." 

"  Well,"  muttered  the  old  woman,  somewhat  appeased, 
while  the  buds  looked  considerably  happier,  "  I  am  but  a 
poor  woman,  and  the  sahib  is  the  lord  of  gold  and  silver." 

I  understood  this,  and  it  was  an  appeal  to  which  I  could 
respond.  I  put  my  hand  into  my  pocket  and  drew  out  a 
handful  of  rupees.  These  I  dropped  into  her  outstretched 
hands,  and  she  fell  on  her  face  again  and  declared  I  was 
more  her  father  and  mother  than  ever,  and  otherwise  very 
nearly  related  to  her. 

Then  I  got  up  and  filled  each  of  the  little,  soft,  brown 
hands  of  the  buds  with  rupees,  and  their  tiny  fingers  could 
hardly  close  over  the  large  coins. 

"  Now  go,"  I  said,  and  clasping  hands  as  before,  they 
all  wriggled  in  an  uneven  line  to  and  through  the  door, 
followed  by  the  clerk. 

Then  I  threw  myself  into  a  chair  and  laughed,  yet  it  was 
rather  a  sad  laugh  and  ended  soon,  leaving  me  staring 
thoughtfully  imto  the  sheen  of  gold  sunlight  beyond  the 
lattice  door.  I  felt  sorry  for  them,  and  after  a  time  this 
impersonal  sorrow  merged  into  sorrow  for  myself.  The 
old  woman's  words,  "  Five  years!  What  will  the  sahib 
do?"  rang  in  my  ears.  It  is  a  curious  fact  how,  if  we  are 
in  an  unpleasant  position,  another  person's  sympathy  or 
pity  seems  to  stamp  it  into  our  minds  and  bring  out  sharp- 
ly its  most  disagreeable  points.  She  saw  the  position  more 
clearly  than  I  did.  She  had  seen  my  predecessor  come  and 
go.  She  knew,  probably,  more  of  the  way  in  which  heat 
and  silence  can  work  on  the  white  man's  brain  than  I  did. 
My  thoughts  were  decidedly  unpleasant  as  I  stared  up  into 
the  great  arch  above  me.  There  was  no  ceiling-cloth 
stretched  across.  The  eye  could  go  up  far  among  the  great 
timbers  and  cross-beams  and  watch  the  black,  mummy- 
like  bats  clinging  there  in  rows,  head  downward,  with  their 
claws  sheathed  till  the  night-time. 

It  was  ten  when  I  ordered  the  carriage  and  drove  down 
to  the  city  to  see  the  native  quarter  and  find  my  office. 
Lihuli  is  a  place  with  a  very  large  but  straggling  popula- 
tion, and  without  those  grand  buildings,  tombs,  temples, 
and  mosques  one  stumbles  over  at  every  turn  in  the  native 
cities  of  India.  Nothing  but  piles  of  irregular,  badly  built, 
badly  kept  mud,  plaster,  and  stone  houses  leaning  against 


86  ANNA    LOMBARD. 

one  another,  one  on  the  top  of  the  other,  as  if  an  earth- 
quake had  shaken  them  together,  met  my  eyes  on  the  left 
of  the  broad  road  I  was  traversing.  And  this  was  the 
town.  On  the  other  side  of  it  lay  a  wide,  flowing  stream — • 
doubtless  but  a  dry,  stony  bed  for  many  months  in  the 
year — and  between  the  river  and  the  town  rose  a  high,  stone 
wall  which  intervened  to  prevent  the  miserable  little,  mud 
houses  slipping  into  the  stream  and  being  whirled  away  to 
the  great  swamps  of  the  plain.  Eunning  through  the 
town  there  was  one  respectable  street,  and  in  this  1  found 
the  court-house  and  my  office — a  two-storied  building  in 
stone  adjoining.  The  lower  story  one  could  enter  from 
the  street;  but  to  arrive  at  the  second,  one  had  to  pass 
through  the  ground-floor  out  into  the  square  yard  beyond, 
where  great  white  oxen,  reposing  on  their  fore-knees,  gazed 
at  one  steadily  through  the  blinding  glare  of  the  sun,  and 
by  picking  one's  way  carefully  through  piles  of  green  fod- 
der and  pools  of  slime,  one  reached  the  airy,  frail  wooden 
staircase  that  ran  up  to  the  balcony  of  the  second  story. 
The  house  was  a  corner  one,  and  the  balcony  at  the  side 
here  overhung  a  narrow,  native  court.  The  buildings  were 
not  high,  and  the  sun  fell  richly  into  it.  Glancing  across, 
I  saw  a  little,  grated  window  opposite,  low  down  and  white 
with  the  dust  of  the  road.  Two  native  women  sat  behind 
the  bars,  and  I  caught  the  glint  of  a  red  and  blue  glass 
bracelet  as  a  tiny  brown  hand  clasped  one  of  the  rails.  It 
was  fairly  cool  and  shaded  in  the  balcony,  because  an  awn- 
ing of  English  manufacture  stretched  over  it  made  it  so. 
Beneath,  in  the  dust,  sat  the  sellers  of  sweets  arid  cakes, 
cross-legged,  calling  out  their  wares  in  a  crooning,  droning 
voice.  I  passed  on  and  turned  the  corner  of  the  balcony, 
coming  round  to  the  front  of  the  office,  where  the  long 
windows  opened  into  it.  Some  white  pigeons  had  their 
cote  on  the  gray  wall  of  the  court-house  adjoining,  and 
they  whirled  round  the  balcony,  their  snow-white  wings 
flashing  in  the  gold  sunlight  against  the  blue  sky.  I 
watched  them  for  an  instant,  and  they  seemed  looking  at 
me  wonderingly.  "  Poor  Burke!"  I  thought,  "  perhaps 
these  birds  were  favorites  of  his,  and  are  asking  themselves 
if  I  am  he  come  back  to  them."  I  shuddered  and  turned 
into  the  office.  It  was  all  so  neat  and  in  such  perfect 
order.  It  seemed  as  if  he  had  just  stepped  out  of  it  except 
that  the  dust  lay  thick  on  everything.  The  jilmils  of  the 


LOMBABD.  37 

windows  were  closed,  and  all  was  black  darkness  to  me 
stepping  from  the  yellow  glare  outside.  I  started  as  a 
shuffling  on  the  matting  came  to  my  ears  and  the  light  of 
a  pair  of  eyes  to  mine,  looking  out  of  the  shadow.  The 
next  minute  I  distinguished  the  figure  of  a  native  clerk 
bearing  a  bunch  of  keys. 

"  Why,  where  did  you  spring  from?"  I  exclaimed,  or  a 
near  equivalent  to  that  in  Hindustani. 

"  Behold,  heaven  born,  there  is  an  inner  staircase,"  re- 
plied the  clerk,  bowing,  and  then  I  noticed  that  a  second 
little  staircase  just  outside  the  office  door  led  below. 

I  took  over  the  keys  and  went  to  work — dry  work  for  the 
most  part — reading  letters,  filing  and  answering  them,  and 
writing  judgments  on  cases  I  had  not  tried;  and  hot  work, 
for  there  was  no  punkah,  and  ordering  one  put  up  for  to- 
morrow did  not  make  it  any  cooler  to-day.  The  sweat  gath- 
ered on  my  face  and  poured  persistently  off  my  nose,  blot- 
ting and  blurring  everything  I  wrote  in  the  most  pathetic, 
approved,  tear-stained  way.  It  was  pathetic,  I  thought; 
a  few  tears  would  not  probably  have  cost  me  as  much. 

By  five  in  the  afternoon  I  was  free,  and  shutting  up  the 
dusty,  airless  room  I  strolled  out  on  the  balcony  and  found 
compensation. 

The  Burmah  air  was  round  me,  dazzling,  yellow  air,  like 
liquid  gold,  and  heavy  with  those  strange  smells  of  smoke 
and  rose  and  incense  and  spices.  Above,  the  Burmah  sky 
of  silver  blue;  below,  the  broad  Burmah  road,  with  its 
countless  forms  in  white  and  blue  and  yellow  passing  up 
and  down,  and  its  bullock-carts  with  their  heavy,  large 
white  bullocks  moving  slowly  in  from  the  teak  forests  that 
lie  toward  the  west.  I  leaned  on  the  rail  of  the  balcony 
and  looked  down,  realizing  how  truly  the  East  was  in  my 
blood.  It  seemed  my  home,  its  air  my  native  air.  "With 
all  its  miseries  and  its  sins  I  loved  it  and  I  knew  that  I 
did.  The  wish  of  my  childhood,  boyhood,  and  youth  had 
been  accomplished.  I  had  come  to  the  East,  and  did  not 
think  I  should  ever  want  to  return.  It  holds  one  with  too 
many  hands.  I  leaned  on  one  elbow  gazing  down  on  the 
careless,  light-hearted  stream  of  Orientals  passing  below — 
people  whose  brains  are  like  the  brains  of  a  genius,  whose 
daily  life  is  the  life  of  a  child,  and  whose  passions  are  the 
passions  of  a  beast.  A  feeling  of  contentment  stole  over 
me,  borne  on  the  heated,  languid,  spice-laden  air.  Had  I 


38  ANNA    LOMBARD. 

only  had  beside  me  that  yielding  form  and  those  speaking 
eyes  I  should  have  been  happy,  far  too  happy;  and  this  is 
doubtless  what  the  gods  thought  when  they  arranged 
things  differently. 

I  went  down  presently  by  the  little,  rickety  outside  stair- 
case and  through  the  court-yard,  where  the  bullocks  were 
still  wallowing  in  the  blue  mud,  and  through  the  lower 
story  of  the  building,  which  was  the  office  of  a  native  and 
full  of  dusky  native  clerks,  perched  on  high  stools  in  their 
straight  white  garments,  with  their  long,  black,  braided 
hair  falling  down  to  the  floor.  The  place  was  dark,  with 
closed  windows  and  jilmils  ;  but  the  rolling  eyes  of  the 
clerks  as  they  turned  on  me,  passing  through  their  midst, 
almost  lighted  it  with  their  gleaming  whites  and  jetty 
pupils.  And  so  at  last  out  into  the  now  cooling,  brilliant 
air  and  to  iny  carriage.  A  thought  came  to  me.  I  was 
not  hungry;  my  lonely  dinner  in  my  empty  bungalow  did 
not  invite  me.  I  would  leave  it  till  later  and  go  now  and 
see  the  notorious  swamps,  the  blue,  miasma-laden,  death- 
dealing  swamps  of  Lihuli.  I  would  go  now  while  I  was 
fresh  and  strong,  before  the  place  had  thinned  and  weak- 
ened my  stock  of  clean  blood.  I  found  out  from  the 
native  coachman  that  we  should  have  to  drive  down  to  the 
river  where,  at  certain  places,  there  were  landing-stages 
and  boats — the  common  boats  mostly  used  for  merchandise, 
for  the  river  higher  up  was  fair  and  broad,  a  good  high- 
way for  traffic.  Here  it  became  but  a  poor  and  slug- 
gish stream  that  lower  down,  below  the  town,  found  diffi- 
culty in  struggling  through  the  wide  morasses  in  its  path. 

Accordingly,  through  the  balmy,  red -gold  air  we  drove 
down  to  the  river-side,  and  found,  by  chance,  an  old  Bur- 
man  sitting  on  his  heels  beside  a  still  older  boat,  damp  and 
sticky  yet  from  its  recent  load  of  half-rotten  fruit.  He 
was  smoking  peacefully,  watching  with  dull,  unseeing  eyes 
the  pinkish  ripples  of  the  stream  tumbling  along  in  their 
muddy  bed. 

The  coachman  threw  his  whip  at  him,  by  way  of  attract- 
ing his  attention;  and  this,  catching  him  full  in  the  mid- 
dle of  his  blue-brown,  naked  back,  sufficed  to  arouse  him 
from  his  reverie,  and  while  I  stood  on  the  little  quay  the 
following  colloquy,  as  far  as  it  can  be  approached  in  En- 
glish, took  place : 

"  Hi,  there,  you  son  of  an  owl,  this  heaven-born  person 


ANNA    LOMBARD.  39 

of  distinction  wishes  to  descend  the  river.  For  how  many 
annas  shall  his  nobly  proportioned  body  confer  honor  on 
your  stinking  old  tub  of  a  boat?" 

"I  am  the  servant  of  the  heaven-born.  ±or  fifteen 
annas  we  will  descend  even  to  the  swamps." 

"  And  return,  thou  base-born?" 

"  I  said  not  return." 

"  For  fifteen  annas  thou  shalt  go  and  return  and  see  that 
this  king  among  men  returns  unharmed,  or  thou  wilt  sway 
in  the  wind  as  a  leaf  of  the  peepul-tree." 

"  It  is  well.  I  am  but  a  poor  man  and  the  sahib's  will 
is  my  will." 

At  the  end  of  this  I  disposed  of  my  "  nobly  proportioned 
body  "  in  the  old  fruit-scented  craft,  and  we  pushed  off 
from  the  bank  by  the  aid  of  the  long  pole  the  old  Burman 
used  punting  fashion.  My  sais  got  off  the  box,  and,  sit- 
ting on  his  heels  beneath  the  noses  of  the  horses,  watched 
me  go  down  stream,  supremely  satisfied  with  the  coach- 
man's bargaining.  Easily  the  boat  rocked  its  way  down 
the  river  like  a  drunken  man,  pleased  with  himself  and  all 
the  world,  rolling  homeward;  pushed  by  the  old  Burmau 
now  from  one  bank,  now  from  the  other,  it  kept  its  mid- 
dle course  down  stream,  and  the  rank  grass  and  long  weeds 
at  the  sides  stretched  out  their  snares  in  vain.  I  sunk  into 
a  reverie  that  the  warm  stillness  of  the  air  and  the  ripple 
and  the  lap  of  the  water  aided,  and  it  quite  startled  me 
when  the  punter  ceased  his  work  suddenly  and  waved  his 
arms  round  his  head  and  then  toward  the  landscape  in 
general,  with  a  shrill  cry  to  attract  my  attention.  I  sat  up, 
raised  my  eyes,  and  looked  about  me. 

The  swamps  were  round  me,  stretching  on  every  side  of 
me  as  far  as  vision  could  reach,  except  in  the  west,  where 
the  great  teak  forests  rose  in  dark  masses  against  the  glow- 
ing sky;  and  desolate,  tainted,  deadly  as  they  were,  they 
yet  possessed  a  peculiar  beauty  of  their  own — that  same 
wonderful  beauty  that  rises  before  one's  eyes  everywhere  in 
the  East  and  is  the  consolation  for  all  its  trials.  They  lay 
around  me,  a  wonderful  plain  of  varied  color,  here  the 
light  amber  and  pale  green  of  lichen  and  moss  growing  on 
fallen  timber,  there  a  patch  of  vivid  scarlet  from  some 
nameless  flowers  springing  out  of  the  rotting  vegetation, 
there  a  long,  dark,  green  band  of  rushes  tipped  with  gold 
in  the  flood  of  the  evening  sun;  and  over  them  all,  faint 


40  ANNA    LOMBAKD. 

and  indefinable,  hung  a  pale  blue  mist,  a  shifting  veil  of 
blue  vapor. 

The  river  had  widened  out  and  shallowed,  and  great  tus- 
socks of  coarse  moss  rose  out  of  its  straggling  bed.  Against 
one  of  these  the  boat  jarred  and  finally  rested.  The  old 
man  laid  down  his  pole  and  squatted  on  his  heels.  I  gazed 
long  and  curiously  about  me,  away  over  the  masses  of  sod- 
den moss,  over  the  little,  fiat,  gleaming  pools  turning 
blood  red  in  the  evening  light,  away  over  streaming  patches 
of  decaying  vegetation  and  forming  carbon,  away  into  the 
pale,  poisonous  mist  on  every  side.  It  was  quite  silent  but 
for  the  sing-sing  of  the  mosquitoes  round  us.  Far  off  on 
the  edge  of  a  gleaming  flat  of  water,  motionless  as  an  ibis 
carved  on  an  Egyptian  wall,  stood  a  long-shanked  bird.  I 
could  see  his  profile,  all  long  beak  and  tufted  crest,  de- 
fined against  the  amber  distance.  He  was  the  only  sign  of 
life;  all  around  and  between  him  and  me  stretched  decay, 
poison,  and  death.  I  sat  for  a  long  time  in  contemplation, 
as  the  light  sunk  lower  and  lower  over  the  dismal  swamp, 
and  the  old  Burmah  began  to  get  uneasy  and  move  about 
in  the  boat.  At  last  he  raised  his  arms  over  his  head  to 
attract  my  attention,  and  I  nodded  to  him  that  he  might 
return  if  he  wished.  Slowly  we  pushed  and  punted  back 
up  stream,  between  the  rank  and  muddy  banks,  and  before 
we  reached  the  landing-stage,  darkness  had  swept  over  the 
face  of  the  swamp;  it  had  veiled  itself  in  the  night  quickly 
and  deftly  as  a  woman  draws  her  veil  across  her  face  with 
one  turn  of  her  hand.  It  was  quite  dark  when  I  regained 
my  bungalow,  and  I  eat  my  solitary  dinner  by  the  light  of 
one  solitary  lamp  set  in  the  center  of  the  table,  which 
threw — owing  to  its  abominable  shade,  manufactured  in 
Birmingham — a  dazzling  circle  of  light  just  round  its  foot 
on  the  white  table-cloth,  leaving  the  whole  of  the  rest  of 
the  large  and  lofty  room  in  complete  obscurity.  I  heard 
the  bats  whiz  in  and  out  and  repair  to  their  haunts  in  the 
far-away  ceiling  undisturbed,  and  the  lizards  and  spiders 
scurrying  and  clinking  about  in  the  shadowy,  far-off  cor- 
ners; they  doubtless  gave  the  construction  of  that  Birming- 
ham lamp  their  unqualified  approval.  As  the  sole  society 
of  these  companions  is  not  very  interesting,  and  I  was  too 
tired  to  seek  the  club,  1  went  off  to  bed  early. 

Three  weeks  passed,  and  by  the  end  of  that  time  I  felt 
myself  settled  into  an  old  resident.  I  found  I  had  court 


ANNA    LOMBARD.  41 

work  to  do,  and  this  rather  amused  me.  Needing  an  in- 
terpreter by  my  side  all  through  the  court  business  irritat- 
ed me.  I  like  to  hear  a  native's  evidence  straight  from  his 
lips,  and  by  the  coupling  of  particular  looks  and  glances 
and  motions  of  the  face  with  certain  words,  I  can  tell 
pretty  well  which  lie  he  is  telling.  Therefore,  in  most  of 
my  leisure  hours  I  studied  the  Burmese  language,  and  each 
day,  after  dinner,  the  bats,  lizards,  and  spiders  listened 
from  their  corners  to  a  high-class  conversation  in  the  ver- 
nacular. I  hired  an  old  Munshi  to  teach  me  and  to  talk 
to  me,  and  often  he  would  bring  two  or  three  friends  with 
him.  Then,  all  crouching  on  their  heels  in  a  circle  round 
my  chair,  they  would  all  talk  to  me,  in  turn,  by  my  spe- 
cial request,  otherwise  they  would  have  all  talked  together. 

In  addition  to  this  study,  which  was  my  form  of  amuse- 
ment, I  had  found  time  in  that  three  weeks  to  paint  a  por- 
trait of  Anna. 

I  hardly  needed  a  portrait  on  canvas,  since  a  very  clear 
and,  I  hoped,  indelible  one  was  stamped  in  my  brain;  but 
one  never  knows  about  these  things.  The  human  brain  is 
one  of  the  crankiest  creations,  and  a  good  stiff  attack  of 
fever  will  sometimes  wipe  away  and  make  a  blank  of  its 
dearest  impressions.  So  I  committed  her  face  to  canvas, 
in  view  of  contingencies;  and  it  was  pleasant  to  see  it  smil- 
ing out  upon  me  from  the  hot  gloom  of  my  dining-room, 
when  I  came  back  sick  and  weary  from  a  crowded  court- 
room, with  my  retina  weary  of  photographing  infinities  of 
black  visages.  I  really  found  little  time  for  going  to  the 
club,  and  the  members  did  not  see  me  there  very  often; 
but  some  of  the  men  would  sometimes  bring  their  Burmese 
wives  with  them,  and  there  was  quite  a  family  gathering  on 
my  veranda.  It  was  unnecessary  generally  to  bring  out 
extra  chairs  for  the  women,  as  they  were  so  small  they 
could  slip  in  beside  their  husbands  into  the  same  chair 
without  his  being  cramped;  but  usually  they  preferred  to 
sit  cross-legged  at  his  feet.  Some  of  them  were  excellent 
musicians,  and  occasionally  brought  their  pear-shaped 
guitars  and  sung  native  melodies  in  perfect  time  and  tune; 
but  for  the  most  part  they  liked  to  sit  idle,  smoking  their 
huge  white  Burmese  cheroots,  that  are  at  least  four  times 
the  size  of  our  cigars,  and  which,  sticking  out  from  their 
little  mouths,  stretched  quite  round  to  hold  them,  do  any- 
thing but  improve  their  appearance, 


42  ANNA    LOMBARD. 

One  evening  they  followed  me  into  my  sitting-room,  and 
spying  Anna's  portrait,  which  I  had  stood  upon  a  table  by 
itself,  they  crowded  over  it  with  eager  curiosity.  Lihuli  is 
not  an  advanced  Burmese  community.  There  was  no 
white  woman  there  then,  and  perhaps  had  not  been  for 
years — perhaps  not  in  the  lives  of  these  little  creatures — 
and  the  fair,  bright  countenance  looked  to  their  dusky, 
peering  eyes  as  a  thing  unseen  and  unknown.  But  it  was 
the  hair  that  struck  them  most.  They  could  not  under- 
stand that  fair,  clustering  mass,  full  of  waves  and  golden 
lights.  They  gazed  at  it  in  awestruck  silence,  and  then  I 
heard  them  murmur  to  one  another: 

"  Peri  hai,"  "  It  is  a  fairy." 

"  No,"  I  said,  rather  sadly,  "  it's  not  a  fairy.  It's  a 
living  woman,  who  will  love  and  be  loved  and  have  chil- 
dren some  day,  just  like  yourselves." 

It  is  only  by  such  images  that  one  can  convey  the  idea  of 
womanhood  to  the  native  mind. 

"  But  look  at  the  hair,"  they  said,  pointing  out  their 
soft,  dark  ringers  at  it,  and  then  turning  to  one  another 
and  examining  one  another's  heads. 

This  was  all  they  knew  of  hair,  this  mass  of  coarse, 
heavy,  straight  threads,  each  of  uniform  length,  that,  when 
dressed  and  oiled,  lay  in  a  black,  solid  lump  against  their 
heads,  or  when  undone  fell  in  uneven,  unwaving  lines  to 
the  floor. 

"  That  is  English  hair,  and  she  is  an  English  woman," 
I  said;  but  as  I  followed  them  out  on  to  the  veranda,  I 
heard  them  muttering  to  themselves,  "  Sachbat  ne  bolta 
hai,  Peri  hai,"  "He  is  not  speaking  the  truth;  it  is  a 
fairy,"  and  they  looked  dubiously  on  my  veracity  ever 
after. 

During  this  time  I  had  several  letters  from  Anna,  and 
they  were  characteristic  ones,  which  delighted  me.  All 
the  social  news  of  the  station,  and  what  she  had  been  doing 
in  that  way  herself,  crammed  into  the  first  few  sentences 
and  put  as  shortly  as  possible;  and  all  the  rest  of  the  sheet 
filled  up  with  some  idea  or  theory  of  hers,  or  else  a  con- 
tinuation of  some  argument  or  theory  started  in  mine. 
Her  first  letter,  too,  had  filled  me  with  more  hope  than  I 
had  had  since  I  had  left  her.  It  seemed  full  of  a  sorrow 
at  my  departure  that  she  did  not  like  exactly  to  express, 
but  yet  managed  to  indicate  very  clearly,  $he  thanked 


ANNA    LOMBAED.  43 

me  for  the  ring,  and  said  that  she  wore  it  on  the  middle 
finger  of  her  right  hand,  and  wound  up  her  letter  with: 

"  Why  didn  t  you  wake  me?" 

Altogether,  so  far,  life  in  Burmah  did  not  seem  abso- 
lutely insupportable  to  me,  and  I  grew  deeply  interested 
in  my  judicial  work.  I  made  headway  in  the  language 
and  watched  everything,  noted  everything,  and  stored  up 
all  the  native  lore  and  knowledge  of  native  life  with  which 
to  surprise  and  please  Anna  in  that  far  distance  when  we 
were  to  meet  again.  She  was  deeply  interested  in  all  that 
I  told  her  of  my  Burmese  friends,  and  every  incident  that 
was  unusual  or  striking  of  my  crowded  court-room  made 
the  back-bone  of  a  diverting  story  for  her.  One  instance, 
however,  I  forbore  to  mention,  though  it  was  a  great  deal 
more  to  my  credit  than  some  others.  On  a  certain  Monday 
morning,  when  there  had  been  an  unusual  number  of 
cases,  and  I  was  wearied  out  in  the  heavy  atmosphere  be- 
fore the  lunch  hour  arrived,  a  case  came  before  me  of  ab- 
duction, of  which  the  facts  elicited,  at  length,  from  a  mist 
of  lies,  were  as  follows: 

A  low-caste  Hindu  woman  had  married  a  low-caste  Bur- 
man,  and  their  daughter,  a  low-caste  hybrid,  had  been 
married  and  left  a  widow  before  she  was  eleven  years  old. 
Her  husband's  mother  thereupon  used  her,  according,  in- 
deed, to  Hindu  custom,  as  a  household  drudge,  and  en- 
deavored to  add  to  the  cheerfulness  of  her  existence  by 
frequent  blows  and  a  scarcity  of  nourishment.  The  Bur- 
mese father,  of  the  mild,  gentle  Burmese  disposition,  un- 
able to  bear  the  pitiful  tale  of  his  daughter's  woes,  sum- 
moned up  courage,  with  several  of  his  friends,  to  effect  a 
forcible  abduction  of  the  girl,  and  had  rescued  her  from 
the  old  woman's  clutches.  Hence  the  suit,  and  now  the 
whole  four  stood  before  me.  The  court-room  was  not  very 
large,  with  four  high,  narrow  windows  facing  one  another, 
two  on  each  side.  These  had  bars  without  and  shades 
within  to  keep  out  even  that  much  of  the  pitiless  sunlight; 
the  door  had  a  square  of  open-work  grating  in  it,  to  let 
sure  current  move,  if  possible,  the  stifling  air;  the  back  of 
the  court-room  was  crowded  with  narrow  wooden  benches, 
black  and  polished  from  the  continued  contact  of  oily, 
naked  arms,  legs,  and  bodies.  In  the  forepart  was  my 
chair,  a  little  raised,  with  a  punTcali  swinging  over  it,  and 
on  this  particular  morning  there  were  ranged  before  me 


44  ANNA    LOMBARD. 

the  old,  witch-like  mother-in-law,  the  prosecutrix,  the  gen- 
tle old  Burman,  the  accused,  his  wife,  and  their  daughter 
Lulloo,  a  very  beautiful,  half-developed  woman  of  eleven. 
She  had  very  little  to  say;  she  stood  with  her  great  eyes 
under  magnificent  arching  brows  fixed  upon  me  the  whole 
time,  and  her  dirty  white,  ragged  cotton  tunic  turned  down 
from  her  back  and  shoulders.  They  were  horribly  scarred 
and  cut,  while  her  left  breast  was  swollen,  and  had  a  large 
circular  red  patch  on  it.  Now,  it  is  difficult  to  make  a 
black  skin  red,  and  when  a  patch  shows  up  dusky  crimson 
on  it,  it  means  blood  badly  extravasated  underneath.  I 
knew  what  a  cruel  blow  must  have  been  given  to  cause 
that  mark,  and  I  was  not  much  inclined  to  patience  with 
the  old  woman  when  she  explained  to  me  at  great  length 
that  the  girl  was  her  son's  property  and  her  property,  and 
could  not,  under  any  circumstances,  go  back  to  live  with 
her  own  people.  All  this  was  perfectly  correct  as  far  as 
Hindu  India  went;  but  the  law  was  different  in  Burmah; 
moreover,  a  right  to  a  person's  custody  is  forfeited  by  ex- 
cessive cruelty  under  any  law. 

"  The  girl  is  lazy,  and  will  not  work  unless  she's  beat- 
en," screamed  the  old  woman. 

"  Is  that  true,  Lulloo?"  I  asked,  curious  to  have  this 
beautiful,  silent,  helpless  creature  speak. 

"  No,  it  is  not  true,"  she  answered,  calmly.  "  I  have 
worked  from  dawn  till  dark  for  a  handful  of  rice  and  two 
dates.  Let  the  sahib  take  me  for  a  servant  in  his  house 
and  see  how  I  will  work.  Let  me  be  only  meteranni  in 
the  house  of  the  huzoor." 

I  smiled,  and  shook  my  head.  ^, 

"  I  have  no  use  for  women  in  my  house,"  I  answered. 
"  Do  you  wish  to  return  to  your  father?" 

The  girl  looked  down  and  fingered  a  dried  and  faded  cir- 
cle of  clematis  on  her  wrist,  and  then  said,  in  a  low  voice : 

"  Yes,  if  I  may  not  go  to  the  house  of  the  sahib." 

I  signaled  for  the  old  Burman  to  approach. 

"  Take  your  daughter  and  keep  her.  The  court  gives 
you  the  right  to  her." 

The  girl,  instead  of  joyfully  throwing  herself  into  her 
father's  arms,  as  I  anticipated,  flung  herself  at  my  feet, 
kissing  and  crying  over  them.  The  old  woman,  as  soon  as 
she  fairly  understood  the  sentence,  began  screaming  and 
vociferating. 


ANNA    LOMBARD.  45 

"  Take  her  away,"  I  said,  peremptorily;  and  two  stout 
Burmans,  ushers  of  my  court,  dragged  and  hustled  her 
out  between  them. 

We  could  still  hear  her  shrill  clamor  outside,  through 
the  thick  stone  walls.  Lulloo  was  still  weeping  at  my 
feet,  and  a  stray  ray  of  light  from  the  window  fell  across 
her  bare  shoulders  and  showed  up  the  hideous  weals  and 
cuts  upon  them.  I  lifted  her  up. 

"  Don't  you  understand,  child?"  I  said.  "  You  won't 
be  beaten  or  starved  any  more.  Go  away  now  with  your 
father." 

The  girl  ceased  sobbing,  and  turned  away  to  her  father, 
muttering  to  herself,  "  I  am  not  a  child.  I  am  a  woman 
and  a  widow."  Then  she  went  away  with  her  parents  to 
the  back  of  the  court  and  other  cases  came  crowding  on, 
through  all  that  long,  hot  afternoon,  and  I  thought  no 
more  about  her. 

The  next  morning,  strolling  out  into  my  compound  to 
breathe  a  little  cool  air  before  the  sun  had  fairly  struggled 
over  the  edge  of  the  plain,  I  saw  something  white  in  the 
centre  of  one  of  the  big  banana  leaves  of  a  prominent  tree 
which  grew  close  to  the  main  path  of  the  compound  by  the 
gate.  I  walked  up  to  it  and  found  a  note,  rolled  up  and 
stuck  through  a  hole  in  the  leaf.  The  writing  was  that  of 
the  professional  bazaar  letter-writer,  and  then,  signed  at 
the  bottom  in  large,  unsteady,  straggling  characters,  was 
the  word  "  Lulloo."  I  laughed  and  read  the  note.  When 
a  native  is  in  love,  he  or  she  may  not  be  very  constant  or 
faithful,  and  what  he  feels  may  not  be  the  highest  class 
of  emotion,  but  at  least  he  is  very  earnest  for  the  time 
being,  and  his  language  is  always  remarkably  explicit.  He 
loses,  in  fact,  no  time  whatever  in  coming  to  the  point. 
The  present  note  was  no  exception  to  this  rule. 

Lulloo,  having  apparently  lost  her  heart  to  me  the  pre- 
vious day  in  the  court-house,  wished  to  draw  my  attention 
to  that  fact  in  the  most  emphatic  manner.  I  read  and  re- 
read it  several  times — for  it  was  in  Hindustani,  both  sub- 
stance and  character,  and  therefore  good  practice,  for  one 
can  not  be  too  well  versed  in  this  sort  of  literature.  Then 
I  tore  it  in  the  tiniest  fragments  and  gave  them  to  the 
now  stirring  morning  breeze  and  went  inside  to  breakfast. 
A  week  passed,  and  I  saw  nothing  of  Lulloo;  but  the 
notes  continued,  and  I  found  one  each  morning  stuck  in 


46  ANNA    LOMBARD. 

the  banana  leaf.  Some  reproached  me  for  not  having  an- 
swered the  former  ones,  and  some  merely  begged  me  to 
give  her  some  sign  of  my  favor.  At  the  end  of  the  week 
the  notes  ceased,  and  I  thought  my  absolutely  ignoring 
them  had  had  the  desired  effect.  That  evening,  however, 
just  as  I  was  leaving  the  court,  Lulloo  sprung  up,  appar- 
ently from  nowhere,  and  stood  in  front  of  me.  I  was  quite 
astonished  at  the  change  in  the  child  since  I  had  last  seen 
her,  with  matted  hair,  thin  cheeks  and  ragged,  dirty  clothes 
in  the  court-room.  Now  she  was  clean,  plump,  and  radi- 
ant, with  a  brand-new  bolster-case  petticoat  of  green  silk 
and  a  white  muslin  zouave. 

"  Sahib!  sahib!"  she  said,  joyfully.     "  Look  at  me!" 

"  Where  did  you  get  all  these  fine  clothes?"  I  asked, 
smiling. 

"  I  buy  them.  They  are  all  mine.  I  make  much  money 
now  by  my  profession." 

"  What  is  it?"  I  pursued,  watching  the  sun  strike  the 
purple  lights  in  her  hair. 

"  Snake-charming.  All  snakes  know  me.  I  can  charm 
them  all.  They  never  hurt  Lulloo.  Would  the  sahib  like 
to  see  my  snakes?"  she  added,  insinuatingly,  coming  a  lit- 
tle nearer  me  and  throwing  back  her  head  at  an  angle, 
where  her  curled  lips  and  arching  brows  looked  most  beau- 
tiful. "  Shall  I  come  this  evening  with  my  snakes  and 
show  the  sahib?"  she  repeated. 

Native  like,  there  was  not  a  word  about  the  notes  nor 
any  allusion  now  to  those  deeper  feelings  that  had  been 
breathed  in  them.  What  is  it  that  sometimes  sways  us  to 
grant,  sometimes  to  refuse,  a  request  that  we  ourselves  have 
no  personal  interest  in?  I  see  now  that  I  should  have  re- 
fused this  one;  but  weakness,  I  suppose,  took  hold  of  me 
and  I  consented. 

"  Very  good,  Lulloo,  come  up  at  eight  o'clock  this  even- 
ing and  bring  your  snakes.  I  shall  have  some  friends  com- 
ing. You  shall  show  all  you  do,"  and  then  I  got  into  my 
carriage  and  drove  away. 

Lulloo,  the  instant  her  request  was  granted,  had  disap- 
peared. I  had  invited  four  of  the  fellows  to  come  and  dine 
with  me  that  evening,  and  it  struck  me  the  snake-charm- 
ing would  be  a  good  thing  to  amuse  them  with  afterward, 
and  I  myself  would  not  be  sorry  to  see  the  thing  done 
genuinely  and  watch  it  at  close  range. 


ANNA    LOMBARD.  47 

So  eight  o'clock  that  evening  found  myself,  the  doctor, 
Knight,  Hunter,  and  Jones  seated  in  a  semicircle  facing 
the  veranda,  smoking,  sipping  iced  brandies,  and  waiting 
for  Lulloo.  With  customary  unpunctuality  our  watches 
marked  the  quarter-past  before  Lulloo  came  on  to  the  ver- 
anda and  appeared  before  us,  followed  by  an  old,  wizened 
Btirman  who  was  carrying  a  wooden  box  bound  with  brass 
that  seemed  to  sway  with  a  movement  of  its  own  as  he  car- 
ried it.  I  saw  the  men  glance  at  one  another  with  surprise, 
as  the  girl,  with  her  easy  steps  and  Bacchus-like  face,  came 
into  the  light.  She  might  have  served  perfectly  for  the 
model  of  any  of  those  beautiful  antiques  of  the  youthful 
Bacchus.  She  salaamed  composedly  to  us  all,  and  then 
sat  down,  crouching  on  her  heels,  opened  a  small,  square 
door  in  the  hutch-like  box  and  gave  a  shrill  whistle.  Al- 
most instantly  the  circular  space  around  her  was  alive  with 
snakes  of  all  sizes  and  colors;  they  came  tumbling  through 
the  small  opening,  one  over  the  other,  and  went  writhing, 
wriggling,  and  gliding  in  all  directions  over  the  matting. 

"  I  say,"  whispered  Knight,  in  my  ear,  moving  uneasily 
in  his  chair.  "  This  is  too  bad.  It's  like  a  fellow  having 
D.  T.  without  deserving  it,  you  know." 

"  Perhaps  you  do  deserve  it,"  I  retorted — for  Knight 
was  a  consumer  of  many  pegs.  "  Now,  I  don't  mind 
watching  them  in  the  least." 

Lulloo  was  catching  up  her  snakes  one  by  one  and 
squeezing  their  throats  till  their  mouths  opened,  so  that 
we  could  all  see  that  they  were  fully  fanged.  There  were 
more  snakes  there  than  I  knew  the  names  of,  but  I  recog- 
nized two  fair-sized  rattlers  and  a  small  python.  She  lift- 
ed the  python  with  some  little  exertion  of  strength — for  he 
was  fat  and  heavy — and  tied  him  round  her  waist  as  a  gir- 
dle. Then  she  took  the  two  rattlers  by  their  necks,  one  in 
each  hand,  and  knocked  their  heads  together.  They  spit 
and  hissed  violently.  Then  she  laid  one  down  and  slapped 
the  other  with  her  free  hand,  moving  with  incredible  swift- 
ness to  avoid  the  darting  tongue.  Then,  when  the  poor 
beast  was  worked  up  into  a  thorough  loss  of  his  temper,  she 
brought  out  of  her  zouave  a  little  square  tablet  of  wood, 
and  put  it  before  his  jaws.  He  struck  at  it  viciously,  and 
we  plainly  saw,  when  she  drew  it  away,  the  yellow  drops 
of  venom  his  poison-fangs  had  left  on  it. 

"  I  say,  I  don't  half  like  this,"  muttered  Jones.     "  It's 


48  ANNA    LOMBARD. 

just  playing  with  death.  Suppose  the  brute  catches  her 
hand  instead  of  the  board,  she'd  be  dead  in  half  an  hour." 

"  He  who  harbors  love  in  his  heart  is  in  more  danger 
than  if  he  held  a  hundred  snakes  in  his  bosom,"  crooned 
Lulloo,  as  if  she  had  understood  or  divined  what  he  was 
saying,  and  she  threw  an  eloquent  glance  in  my  direction 
that  made  all  the  men  laugh  and  nudge  one  another. 

"  I  say,  you've  been  going  it  with  this  girl — must  have. 
You'll  get  into  trouble,"  remarked  the  doctor;  and  Knight 
added: 

"  Seems  awfully  stuck  on  him.  I  imagine  we're  expect- 
ed to  leave  early." 

I  felt  myself  flush  up  with  annoyance,  but  said  nothing, 
and  the  clematis-crowned  head  in  front  of  us  bent  low  over 
the  snakes  as  the  girl  twined  the  reptiles  round  her  neck, 
letting  a  bunch  of  squirming  heads  hang  down  like  a 
pendant  or  locket  between  her  firm,  round  breasts. 

She  had  knocked  both  the  rattlers  about  and  let  them 
each  strike  at  the  wood  tablet  several  times.  "  Now  they 
are  tired,"  she  said.  "  See!"  and  indeed  both  snakes  lay 
in  a  heap  on  the  matting,  apparently  quite  exhausted. 

"  You  cruel  little  beast!"  said  Knight,  in  Hindustani, 
chaffingly  shaking  his  finger  at  her. 

The  girl  laughed,  and  picking  up  one  of  the  dormant 
rattlers  by  the  middle  of  tne  body,  flung  it  full  in  his  face. 
I  have  seldom  seen  a  man  so  abjectly  frightened.  He 
turned  livid  and  sprung  to  his  feet,  the  snake  slipped  down 
between  his  legs  and  wriggled  back  toward  its  mistress. 

I  frowned  angrily  at  Lulloo. 

"  How  dare  you,  you  rude,  ill-bred  little  girl!  I  am 
sorry  I  had  you  to  my  house." 

The  effect  of  my  words  on  Lulloo  was  remarkable.  She 
stared  at  me  with  wide-open  eyes  for  a  moment,  sitting 
back  on  her  heels.  Then  she  burst  out  crying  and  flung 
herself  forward,  clasping  my  feet  and  murmuring  inco- 
herent words  of  contrition. 

Knight  sat  down  again  with  a  forced  smile,  but  he  had 
not  altogether  recovered  his  composure.  It  is  not  pleasant 
to  have  a  full-sized  rattler  flung  suddenly  in  your  face, 
even  though  it  is  exhausted. 

The  other  men  looked  on,  amused.  Lulloo's  attitude  to 
me  interested  them  a  good  deal  more,  practically,  than 
her  snake-charming.  I  drew  my  feet  away,  and  said: 


ANNA    LOMBAKD.  49 

"  You  should  apologize  to  my  friend,  not  to  me." 

Lulloo  looked  up  and  gazed  resentfully  at  Knight  out  of 
her  great,  star-like,  tear-filled  eyes,  then  glanced  back  at 
me  and  finally  crept  toward  Knight,  clasped  his  feet,  mut- 
tered some  apology,  and  drawing  from  the  bosom  of  her 
zouave  a  tiny,  long  vial  of  attar  of  roses,  dropped  some  of 
it  on  them.  The  idea  of  well-blacked  and  polished  Lon- 
don-manufactured boots  being  anointed  with  attar  of  roses 
amused  the  men;  they  leaned  back  in  their  long  chairs  and 
laughed  at  the  scene  till  the  cane  creaked.  Knight,  look- 
ing uncomfortable,  tucked  his  feet  under  his  chair,  and 
Jones  leaned  forward,  spreading  out  his  handkerchief. 

"  Here,  little  girl,  put  some  on  this." 

Lulloo  again  looked  questioningly  at  me.  It  was  plain 
she  would  obey  me  to  any  limit;  but  she  had  no  particular 
liking  for  my  friends.  They  were  laughing  at  her  and 
making  fun  of  her,  and  a  native,  like  an  animal,  does  not 
forgive  this. 

I  nodded  gravely,  and  she  accordingly  dropped  some  of 
the  priceless  stuff  on  the  outspread  handkerchief.  Jones 
covered  his  face  with  it. 

"Phew!  that's  nice.  I  say,  how  these  snakes  smell! 
Have  you  noticed  it?  They  are  worse  than  a  tank  full  of 
muggers.  Come  on,  you  fellows.  I  think  we  had  better 
be  going." 

"  Have  you  anything  else  to  show  us?"  I  asked  Lulloo. 

"  See  me  as  the  snake  girl,"  she  said;  and  picking  up 
the  smaller  snakes,  she  twisted  them  together  into  a 
wreath  and  put  them  on  her  head;  they  hissed  a  little,  but 
did  not  attempt  to  untwine;  the  next  larger  in  size  she 
knotted  into  a  collaret  and  slipped  round  her  throat;  the 
large  python  formed  her  waist  belt,  smaller  snakes  her 
anklets,  and  smaller  ones  yet  wriggled  in  twisting  rings 
along  her  arms  from  shoulders  to  wrists.  Then  she  stood 
upright  before  us,  looking  like  some  wonderful  little  Indian 
god,  her  whole  body  a  mass  of  writhing,  twisting  snakes, 
and  her  perfect,  Bacchus-like  face  looking  out  at  us  from 
under  her  garland  of  hissing,  moving  heads  and  darting, 
forked  tongues.  She  stood  still  for  a  second,  then  gave  a 
shrill  whistle,  and  as  by  magic  all  the  snakes  dropped  from 
her;  rapidly  untwining  and  uncoiling,  they  glided  down 
over  her  face,  breasts,  and  body,  and  in  a  moment  they 
were  all  writhing  about  the  floor  at  her  feet  again.  She 


50  ANNA.    LOMBARD. 

sat  down  and  began  unceremoniously  packing  them  back 
in  their  box. 

"  Come  and  have  come  pegs  before  you  go,"  I  suggest- 
ed, and  took  the  men  over  to  the  sideboard. 

They  drank  them  with  much  appreciation,  especially 
Knight,  who  declared  he  had  an  uncanny  feeling  yet  in  his 
face  where  the  rattler  had  hit  him;  and  then,  with  a  good 
deal  of  laughter  and  chaff  upon  my  having  refused  legiti- 
mate Burmese  marriage  ties  and  then  succumbed  to  the 
wiles  of  a  snake-charmer,  they  departed,  and  I  walked  back 
to  the  veranda  where  Lulloo  was  sitting. 

She  ordered  the  old  Burman  to  pick  up  the  box  and  re- 
tire, which  he  did,  and  then  she  and  I  were  left  alone. 
She  seemed  in  no  way  disposed  to  hurry,  but  came  closer 
to  me  and  looked  up  in  my  face  with  parted  lips  and  half- 
shut  eyes. 

"  Well,"  I  said,  putting  my  hand  in  my  pocket,  "  how 
much  is  it  to  be?" 

"  Let  there  be  no  price.  Am  I  not  the  slave  of  the 
sahib?  But  let  me  stay  this  one  night  in  the  house  of  the 
sahib." 

Then  I  saw  my  folly  in  accepting  the  snake  entertain- 
ment at  all. 

"  I  have  told  you  before,  Lulloo,  it  can  not  be,"  I  re- 
turned, drawing  from  my  pocket  enough  to  amply  repay 
her,  and  trying  to  force  the  money  into  her  hand.  "  G> 
home,  my  child,  and  find  happiness  among  your  own  per- 
pie.  I  am  here  but  for  a  time.  If  I  loved  you  to-day,  I 
must  break  your  heart  to-morrow.  Go  to  your  own  people 
and  forget  me." 

Lulloo  let  the  money  fall  and  scatter  on  the  floor  as  she 
slipped  to  her  knees  and  clasped  mine,  putting  both  arms 
round  them  and  commencing  to  sob  pitifully. 

"  I  ask  but  to  remain  this  night.  Am  I,  then,  so  dis- 
tasteful to  the  sahib?" 

Now,  to  argue  with  a  native  is  worse  than  useless;  it 
does  nothing  but  confirm  him  in  his  own  view.  I  bent 
over  her  and  took  hold  of  her  shoulders  to  raise  her  up. 

The  skin  underneath  the  thin  muslin  was  soft  like  satin, 
and  the  warmth  and  electricity  of  it  ran  into  my  palms. 
But  I  think  the  only  feeling  stirred  in  me  was  a  rush  of 
wild  longing  for  Anna,  and  as  I  raised  my  head,  my  eves 
went  straight  over  to  the  picture  of  her,  fair  and  smiling, 


AIWA    LOMBARD.  51 

looking  out  at  me  from  the  darkness.  I  raised  her  up  and 
almost  carried  her  to  the  high  lattice  door,  put  her  outside 
in  silence,  and  closed  and  locked  the  door  between  us.  She 
stared  at  me  for  a  minute  through  the  yellow  lattice  wood- 
work, and  then  fled  away  into  the  darkness  with  one  sob- 
bing cry,  "  Sahib!  sahib!"  It  came  back  to  me  over  the 
magnolia  jungle  of  the  compound  in  a  faint  wail  and  then 
there  was  stillness.  I  went  inside  and  upstairs  and  threw 
myself  on  my  bed,  but  I  could  not  sleep.  I  felt  nervous, 
excited,  supremely  dissatisfied  with  myself,  without  exactly 
knowing  why,  and  troubled  about  the  girl  and  her  genuine 
distress.  I  tossed  about  till  morning,  and  got  up  with 
shaking  muscles  and  aching  head.  I  went  round  to  the 
club  after  breakfast  and  found  there  my  four  companions 
of  last  night  finishing  their  coffee  and  perusing  some  aged 
papers.  They  looked  up  as  I  entered  and  eyed  me  all  over 
with  a  sort  of  sympathetic  curiosity  that  I  found  very  ob- 
noxious. 

"  You  look  very  tired  this  morning,"  observed  the  doc- 
tor; and  at  this  remark  a  sly  smile  went  round  the  circle. 

"  Yes;  I  got  no  sleep  at  all,"  I  returned,  yawning  and 
dropping  into  a  chair. 

This  statement  was  the  signal  for  a  fire  of  covert  and 
idiotic  chaff  and  innuendo.  I  listened  to  it  all  in  silence, 
balancing  a  paper-cutter  in  my  fingers  and  looking  through 
the  window.  Then,  when  they  had  quite  exhausted  their 
stock  of  wit  and  were  quiet,  I  said,  crossly: 

"  If  you  think  that  girl  stayed  at  my  place  all  night, 
you're  mistaken.  She  left  five  minutes  after  you  did." 

There  was  silence  in  the  room. 

Something  in  my  look,  voice,  or  manner  convinced 
them,  I  suppose,  that  I  was  speaking  the  truth,  for  the 
doctor,  after  laying  down  his  paper  on  his  knee  and  look- 
ing at  me  over  it  in  silence  for  quite  two  minutes,  said, 
slowly : 

"  Ethridge,  you'll  come  to  a  bad  end.  You're  intemper- 
ate, and  intemperance  in  India,  no  constitution  can  stand." 

"  What  on  earth  are  you  driving  at  now?"  I  asked, 
more  crossly  still,  for  I  did  feel  excessively  irritable,  and, 
so  to  speak,  unnerved  that  morning.  I  wheeled  my  chair 
round  on  its  hind  legs  and  stared  at  him  sulkily.  "  I'm 
not  intemperate." 

"  Yes,  you  are,"  persisted  the  doctor,  stolidly;  "  you 


53  ANNA    LOMBARD. 

are  intemperately  virtuous,  and  it  won't  do.  You  won't 
even  have  the  consolation  of  that  girl  of  yours  weeping 
over  your  grave.  She  won't  coine  down  to  Burtnah  to  do 
it.  You  drive  things  to  extremes,  and  one  can't  stand  ex- 
tremes here.  You  are  extremely  moderate,  and  it  won't 
pay.  You  should  be  moderately  moderate.  The  moder- 
ate man  is  the  only  one  who  lives  here.  Moderately  bad, 
moderately  good,  drinks  moderately,  eats  moderately  and 
is  moderately  virtuous.  A  man  is  made,  apparently,  for 
alternate  vice  and  virtue;  and  this  alternation  suits  his 
health  better  than  a  strict  adherence  to  either.  That 
theory  has  been  threshed  out  in  a  novel  called  '  The  Wom- 
an Who  Didn't.'  I  would  advise  you  to  read  it." 

"  I  think  you  are  talking  a  d d  lot  of  rot,"  I  said, 

angrily,  and  got  up  and  walked  out  of  the  club-house.  But 
in  my  heart  I  knew  the  doctor  was  right — with  limita- 
tions. I  went  as  usual  to  the  court-house  and  then  back 
at  noon  to  my  bungalow.  I  had  no  heart  for  billiards  or 
cards  or  any  of  the  club  diversions.  I  had  hardly  got  in- 
side my  compound  gates  when  a  wild  figure  ran  toward 
me,  tearing  its  yellow  tunic,  and  throwing  handfuls  of 
dust  against  its  breast. 

"  My  child,  sahib!  my  child,  my  only  child!  Give  me 
back  my  child!"  and  then,  as  it  groveled  in  the  dust  at 
my  feet,  I  recognized  Jhuldoo,  the  old  Burman,  father  of 
Lulloo. 

"  I  haven't  got  your  child,"  I  said,  wearily— for  my 
head  was  aching,  my  eyes  swollen,  and  life  in  general  was 
a  burden. 

"  No,  sahib,  she  is  dead,  dead,  hanged  in  the  old  stable 
by  the  bridge  that  spans  the  river;  and  Jhnldoo  is  child- 
less, childless!"  and  ne  rocked  himself  backward  and  for- 
ward, sitting  in  the  narrow  path-way  that  ran  up  to  the 
house. 

I  stood  motionless,  paralyzed  by  his  words,  and  felt  my- 
self grow  cold  in  the  blighting  heat  of  the  full  noontide 
sun.  Lulloo  dead!  Hanged!  Hanged  herself,  doubtless, 
after  her  flight  from  me  into  the  darkness.  And  so  /  had 
added  one  more  to  the  terrible  list  of  Hindu  suicides!  I 
stood  still,  trying  to  realize  it.  The  banana-tree  drooped 
over  us,  and  the  figure  in  the  dust  went  on  swaying  and 
rocking  itself  and  moaning  like  a  wounded  animal. 

"  What  did  the  sahib  do  that  she  should  end  her  life  in 


A1TSA    LOMBARD.  53 

the  stable  by  the  bridge  that  spans  the  river?  "What  did 
the  sahib  do?"  he  moaned  over  and  over  again,  yet  with- 
out daring  to  demand  or  even  waiting  or  seeming  to  expect 
an  answer. 

"  I  don't  know,"  I  said,  mechanically,  at  last.  "  Come 
up  to  the  veranda,  Jhuldoo.  I  can  not  stand  here.  Come 
up  and  tell  me  about  her." 

I  walked  forward  with  a  sick,  sinking  heart,  and  Jhuldoo 
got  up  and  shambled  after  me.  When  we  reached  the 
shade  of  the  veranda  he  sunk  down  and  recommenced  his 
crooning  and  weeping.  I  dropped  into  a  chair  and  gazed 
blankly  into  the  sunlight.  Dead!  choked!  hanged!  with 
a  rope  round  that  pretty,  soft,  round  throat,  and  that  beau- 
tiful child's  face  swollen  and  livid  and  distorted.  Poor, 
pretty,  little  child!  What  an  end!  And  I  had  brought 
her  to  it! 

"  The  sahib  could  have  gone  to  the  city;  he  could  have 
gone  to  the  bazaar;  he  could  have  had  a  hundred  wives; 
he  need  not  have  taken  Jhuldoo's  only  child.  Jhuldoo  is 
a  poor  man!  poor  man!  poor  man!" 

The  "  poor  man!  poor  man !  poor  man!"  rose  to  a  pierc- 
ing wail  and  went  through  the  compound  and  distracted 
me. 

"  Jhuldoo,"  said  I,  passionately,  "  I  have  done  nothing 
to  your  daughter — nothing.  I  am  not  responsible  for  her 
death.  She  came  here  and  begged  me  to  use  her  as  my 
toy  and  my  plaything  for  an  hour  or  so,  and  I  would  not. 
I  bid  her  go  back  to  you.  She  was  here  in  my  house  last 
evening  when  I  and  my  friends  were  here,  and  showed  her 
snake-charming.  She  left  here  at  the  hour  of  ten,  un- 
harmed. I  know  nothing  more  of  her  than  that.  I  give 
you  the  white  man's  truth." 

The  old  Burman  lifted  his  head  and  scanned  my  face 
with  his  heavy,  reddened  eyes. 

"  How  should  I  not  believe  the  sahib?"  he  said,  at 
length;  "  I  know  that  his  word  is  truth.  Nevertheless, 
she  has  hanged  herself  in  the  stable  by  the  bridge  that 
spans  the  river,  and  Jhuldoo  is  childless  and  a  poor  man, 
a  poor  man!"  He  rocked  and  sobbed  again,  and  I  sat 
still,  feeling  very  cold  and  sick-hearted.  "  It  was  an  evil 
day  when  she  first  saw  the  sahib's  face  in  the  court-house. 
Yet  do  I  not  blame  the  sahib.  He  discouraged  her,  as  I 
well  know.  Yet  it  is  hard  to  remain  a  widow  at  eleven." 


54  ANNA    LOMBARD. 

Then  he  wept  afresh. 

Much  has  been  said  about  the  avarice  and  greed  of  the 
native;  but,  whether  my  experience  of  them  has  been  siu- 
gularly  happy  or  not,  1  do  not  know,  I  have  always  found 
them  rather  indifferent  to  money — certainly  when  any  of 
their  deeper  emotions  have  been  stirred.  Now,  when  I 
offered  the  old  Burman  money — that  being,  it  seemed  to 
me,  the  only  thing  I  could  do,  not  in  any  way  as  consola- 
tion for  his  daughter's  loss,  but  simply  to  aid  in  the  ex- 
penses of  her  funeral — he  put  it  aside  and  would  not  look  at 
it.  Although  I  think  he  was  convinced  that  I  had  given 
him  an  absolutely  truthful  version  of  the  matter,  he  still 
hated  me  for  the  loss  I  had  unwittingly  brought  upon  him, 
and  he  would  not  touch  my  money,  and  when  he  rose  to 
leave,  he  shook  the  dust  of  my  veranda  from  his  clothes 
and  shoes  with  something  very  like  a  curse.  1  watched 
him  shamble  away  down  the  sandy  path  of  the  compound 
— a  queer,  bent,  twisted  figure  with  his  bluish-black  skin 
contrasting  oddly  with  the  crude  yellow  of  his  ragged  gar- 
ments— and  then,  with  a  hot  mist  in  my  eyes,  I  turned 
into  my  empty  bungalow.  It  seemed  very  quiet,  awfully 
quiet,  and  something  crackled  under  my  feet  as  I  passed 
from  the  veranda.  I  turned  to  look  what  it  was,  and  saw 
a  little,  dried,  and  withered  garland  of  white  clematis. 

After  this  incident,  life  grew  a  good  deal  more  intoler- 
able to  me.  The  thought  of  her  death  depressed  and 
haunted  me,  and  I  felt  a  sort  of  distaste  to  black  faces, 
which,  considering  they  were  all  round  me — they  and  noth- 
ing else — was  bad.  I  felt  an  aversion  for  the  court-house; 
some  other  of  these  narrow-petticoated  maidens  might  hang 
herself  on  my  account  and  her  father  come  and  sit  on  my 
doorstep  and  reproach  me.  The  weather  grew  steadily 
hotter  and  hotter  as  we  neared  the  rainy  season,  and 
Anna's  letters  grew  less  and  less  frequent.  I  was  evident- 
ly, and  quite  naturally,  slipping  out  of  her  existence,  slip- 
ping out  of  her  thoughts  and  memory.  I  had  gone  down 
to  Burmah — that  is,  I  was  virtually  dead  and  buried  and 
was  now  fast  being  forgotten.  And  I  had  only  been  here 
not  quite  one  year.  At  the  end  of  five —  I  looked  for- 
ward with  dismay,  and  I  began  to  feel  more  and  more  sym- 
pathy with  Burke,  who  had  blown  his  brains  out  in  that 
tepid  stillness  of  the  bungalow,  which  was  beginning  to 
weigh  more  and  more  upon  me  each  night.  The  time 


ANNA    LOMBARD.  55 

seemed  to  pass  slower  and  slower,  so  that  sometimes  I 
caught  myself  wondering  if  it  meant  to  stop  altogether 
and  keep  me  anchored  forever  and  ever  in  Lihuli.  A  day 
seemed  to  stretch  and  stretch  out  its  long,  hot,  elastic 
hours;  and  a  week,  to  look  back  upon  when  it  had  passed, 
seemed  like  a  year.  "  Take  a  wife  and  settle  down." 
Yes,  that  was  doubtless  one  way  to  kill  the  oppressive 
silence  and  keep  a  rational  head  on  one's  shoulders. 
Knight  had  done  so,  and  certainly  seemed  comfortable 
enough.  He  was  growing  portly,  and  but  for  a  little 
trouble  with  his  liver  kept  his  health  wonderfully. 

When  I  went  round  to  see  him  in  the  evening,  I  used  to 
find  him  generally  smoking  peacefully  in  his  dining-room 
with  his  wife  and  family  crawling  about  on  the  floor  around 
his  chair.  He  had  three  little  round,  fat,  toddling  bun- 
dles of  babies,  the  youngest  of  whom  was  as  white  as  its 
father. 

"  But,  Knight,  what  will  you  do  with  all  these  when 
your  term  is  up  and  you  have  to  leave?"  I  asked  him  one 
evening  when  I  came  upon  the  scene  of  happy  domesticity. 

"  Oh,  well,  she  " — with  an  airy  wave  of  his  hand — "  will 
go  back  to  her  own  people,  you  know,  with  the  kids." 

"  But  what  about  that  little  one — it's  a  gin,  isn't  it? — 
and  as  white  as  we  are.  You  won't  want  her  to  go  into 
the  bazaar,  surely,  and  lead  a  dog's  life  among  these  blacks 
— your  own  daughter,  with  your  blood  in  her  veins.  It's 
horrible!" 

"  You're  quite  right,  perfectly  right,  my  dear  fellow. 
It  is  a  horrible  thought,  and  that's  why  I  never  encourage 
it.  I  never  think  about  disagreeable  things.  What's  the 
use?" 

I  gazed  at  him — fat,  rubicund,  cheerful,  and  comfortable 
— as  he  leaned  back  in  his  chair;  then  at  the  pretty,  child- 
like being  who  sat  on  her  heels  under  the  table,  weaving  a 
garland  of  clematis  and  crooning  to  herself;  and  then  at 
the  three  little  creatures  tumbling  round  her,  that  he  had 
seen  fit,  for  his  own  amusement,  to  bring  into  the  world 
and  to  such  a  miserable  heritage. 

"  How  different  people  are,"  I  murmured,  more  to  my- 
self than  to  him.  "  To  me,  all  love — any  sort  of  tie  of  that 
kind — means  responsibility." 

"  Does  it?"  returned  Knight,  sleepily.  "  To  me  it  only 
means  amusement."  There  was  silence  for  a  minute  or 


56  ANNA    LOMBARD. 

two,  then  he  added,  "  I'm  afraid  you  will  go  off  your  head, 
like  Burke,  with  all  your  responsibilities  and  serious  no- 
tions. I  suppose  that's  why  you  didn't  have  anything  to 
do  with  the  little  snake  girl?" 

"  Principally,"  I  answered.  "  Suppose  I  had  consent- 
ed, and  at  the  end  of  my  term — what  then?" 

Knight  raised  his  eyebrows. 

"  Why,  you  would  have  been  dead  sick  and  tired  of  her 
— probably  long  before  that." 

"  And  what  about  her  feelings?" 

"  You've  no  need  to  think  about  them." 

"  That  depends  on  how  you  are  made." 

"  Exactly.  And  you  are  made  all  wrong  for  your  own 
comfort." 

Which  was  true  in  the  main. 

I  stayed  and  had  their  after-dinner  coffee  with  them,  a 
cup  of  which  the  little  Burmese  hostess  brought  to  my  side 
and  then  sung  us  a  song  in  her  soft,  lisping  voice  to  her 
oblong  guitar,  while  the  babies  rolled  about  contentedly  on 
the  matting.  Burmese  babies  never  cry.  They  only  laugh 
and  croon  and  sprawl  about  and  grow  fat.  It  was  a  soft, 
heavy  night;  hot,  so  that  we  dripped  where  we  sat  in  the 
thinnest  of  duck  suits;  but  beautiful  with  the  fireflies  whirl- 
ing in  burning  circles  through  the  dark,  the  air  laden 
with  the  scent  of  the  white  swamp  lilies,  and  a  great,  mel- 
low, red-gold  moon  climbing  slowly  up  over  the  misty 
green  of  the  rice-fields. 

As  I  walked  homeward  I  noticed  a  pale,  tearful  ring 
round  it,  and  I  thought:  "  The  rains  are  at  hand." 

Next  day  the  heat  beat  on  the  walls  of  the  bungalow  and 
came  up  from  the  cracked,  thirsty  earth  like  the  glare  of 
a  furnace.  Calling  round  early  at  the  club  for  possible 
letters — which  I  did  not  find — I  learned  that  three  of  the 
members  were  very  ill  with  fever  and  the  doctor  himself 
down  with  dysentery.  I  went  on  to  the  court-house,  and 
the  only  incident  of  the  burning,  weary  hours  was  that  one 
of  the  native  witnesses  for  the  prosecution  in  a  case  was 
seized  with  heat  apoplexy  and  dropped  dead  on  the  floor  in 
the  course  of  his  testimony.  This  simplified  the  case  fcr 
the  defense,  and  I  drove  home  early.  Entering  the  bunga- 
low felt  like  walking  into  a  lime-kiln,  and  eating  was  an 
impossibility.  After  a  pretense  of  taking  some  dinner  I 
went  out,  involuntarily  seeking  for  cooler,  fresher  air  out- 


ANNA    LOMBARD.  §7 

side.  But  there  was  little  difference,  except  that  outside 
one  had  to  forego  the  slight  relief  the  punkali  gave.  There 
was  no  breeze,  not  the  faintest  breath  stirred  the  crystal, 
gilt  air.  The  sky  was  calm;  there  was  silence  everywhere — 
silence  and  suffocating  heat.  The  trees  seemed  holding 
themselves  rigid;  not  a  leaf  even  trembled  on  them;  there 
was  no  hum  of  insects,  no  rustle  of  a  lizard  even  in  the 
parched  and  withered  grass.  The  earth  seemed  waiting, 
tensely  expectant,  and  there  was  a  universal  hush  as  it 
awaited  the  coming  of  the  rains. 

I  strolled  along  very  slowly,  for  each  movement  meant 
a  fresh  burst  of  drenching  sweat  pouring  down  one's  skin, 
and  the  quiet  of  expectancy  all  round  one  got  into  my  own 
blood  and  made  me  move  silently  and  breathe  lightly,  so  as 
not  to  disturb  the  omnipresent  stillness.  The  sky  above 
me  was  pale,  pure,  transparent,  and  gleaming  like  the  in- 
side of  an  oyster-shell.  The  air  seemed  like  liquid  gold  to 
look  at,  and  like  a  best  Whitney  blanket  to  breathe.  The 
tawny  moss  beneath  iny  feet  was  so  dry  it  cracked  with  a 
little,  hoarse  whisper  as  I  trod  on  it.  I  went  on  with  my 
head  down,  thinking  of  Anna,  and  noticing  in  a  vague  way 
how  the  heat  was  increasing  in  intensity  each  moment, 
just  as  if  I  were  walking  steadily  toward  a  furnace.  At 
last,  even  movement,  however  slow,  seemed  overburdening 
fatigue.  I  stopped  and  looked  up  and  round  me.  The 
sky  had  changed  a  little.  I  was  to  witness  the  thunder 
and  lightning  that  would  usher  in  the  rains.  Now,  a  thun- 
der-storm with  black  clouds  and  night-like  sky,  with  forks 
of  lightning  rending  and  splitting  the  dark  curtain  that 
seems  drawn  between  earth  and  heaven,  is  an  ordinary 
sight,  one  common  to  all  men's  experience,  and  that  is  im- 
pressive enough.  But  here  was  a  roseate  sky,  luminous 
and  transparent  as  a  rose-leaf  held  before  a  flame,  of  itself 
exceedingly  beautiful  and  clear,  save  for  one  enormous 
cloud  that,  rising  almost  from  the  earth,  so  low  it  seemed, 
towered  into  the  sky  and  overspread  all  the  center,  white 
as  the  purest  snow,  delicate,  soft,  and  filmy;  while  all 
round,  to  the  west  and  east  and  north  and  south,  the  glori- 
ous bell  of  the  sky  hung  unruffled  and  glowing  with  a  few 
shining  silver  planets  showing  white  in  the  translucent 
green  and  gold,  and  rose  near  the  horizon. 

I  stood  gazing  up  at  the  gigantic  mass  of  white  vapor, 
piled  up  like  tossed  and  drifted  snow,  and  apparently  hang- 


58  ANNA    LOMBARD. 

ing  so  close  over  me  that  it  almost  seemed  by  stretching 
my  hands  upward  I  could  bury  them  in  its  soft,  fleecy 
masses.  Then,  as  I  watched  it,  it  suddenly  changed  to 
gold;  light  seemed  poured  forth  from  it  and  through  it, 
until  the  whole  was  one  dazzling,  burnished,  blinding  mass 
of  gold,  towering  to  the  centre  of  the  perfect  evening  sky. 
Then  suddenly  from  behind  it  there  came  a  terrific  crash, 
a  splitting,  rending  roar  of  thunder  like  the  bursting  of  a 
thousand  cannon  at  my  side;  and  the  lightning — great,  sav- 
age, silver  forks  of  it — was  thrown  out  from  behind  the 
glowing,  golden  mass,  as  if  by  an  unseen  hand,  plowing  up 
furiously  the  pearl  and  rose  of  the  tranquil  sky.  If  ever 
one  could  believe  one  was  witnessing  the  wrath  of  the  im- 
mortal gods,  if  ever  it  might  seem  to  a  poor  ordinary  mor- 
tal that  he  was  warned  to  stand  aside  while  the  flashing  car 
of  Zeus  swept  upward  through  the  sky,  that  moment  of 
blinding  glory  was  the  time.  I  flung  myself  backward  on 
the  baked  and  glowing  moss,  and  leaning  upon  my  elbow, 
I  gazed  upward  and  let  my  brain  interpret  the  scene  in  any 
fanciful  way  it  would.  Onward  and  upward  swept  that 
magnificent  cloud  of  gold.  Only  for  a  few  seconds  had  the 
charioteer  of  Zeus  allowed  the  wheels  of  the  chariot  to 
graze,  as  it  were,  the  surface  of  the  earth,  but  for  that  mo- 
ment earth's  face  had  been  transfigured.  Everything  had 
caught  a  golden  flame,  reflecting  the  celestial  fire.  On- 
ward now  through  the  clear  blue  expanse  rolled  the  cloud, 
and  to  my  eyes  it  almost  assumed  the  form  of  a  chariot. 
It  seemed  really  as  if  Zeus  himself  was  sitting  within,  his 
majesty  veiled  by  that  whirling  nimbus  of  gold  above  it; 
as  if  the  lightning,  which  kept  falling  from  it  in  split- 
ting, jagged  rays  on  every  side,  were  bolts  scattered  by  his 
hand;  and  the  long,  low,  threatening  roll  of  thunder,  that 
passed  resounding  through  the  listening  air,  was  the  thun- 
der of  his  wheels.  I  lay  and  watched  and  waited.  There 
was  no  other  sound:  a  tense,  breathless,  expectant  silence 
was  all  round  me;  there  was  nothing  to  be  seen  above  but 
the  measureless,  glorious  track  of  infinite  blue  and  the 
tender  green  and  lambent  rose  and  gold  of  the  west.  In 
this  direction  the  cloud  was  traveling  rapidly,  shedding  its 
forked  lightning  all  the  way,  farther  and  farther,  higher 
and  higher;  and  the  long,  low  rumbling  of  the  chariot- 
wheels  grew  fainter  and  fainter.  At  last,  the  light  in  the 
west  grew  of  an  almost  intolerable  brightness,  and  before 


ANNA    LOMBARD.  59 

my  straining  eyes  it  seemed  to  open  suddenly  with  light, 
and  into  an  effulgence  that  was  more  than  vision  could 
bear  passed  the  chariot  of  cloud.  It  was  gone;  nothing 
but  a  brazen  shield  of  purest  light  hung  in  the  west.  Was 
it  the  outside  of  golden  gates  that  had  opened  to  the  com- 
ing of  Zeus  and  swung  to  behind  the  Immortal  One? 
There  was  no  lightning  now.  I  listened.  There  was  not 
the  faintest  echo  of  thunder.  Not  a  sound.  The  sky  was 
once  more  exquisitely  serene,  and  Nature  was  waiting  silent 
as  before.  As  yet  not  one  drop  of  rain  had  fallen.  I  rose 
and  walked  slowly  homeward.  I  was  convinced  the  rains 
would  come  in  a  few  hours.  What  had  I  witnessed — just 
the  inaugural  thunder-storm  or  a  sign  from  the  gods  to 
the  parched  and  patient  air?  I  laughed  a  little,  but  in  a 
hushed  way;  the  awful  silence  that  seemed  hanging  every- 
where like  a  suspended  curtain  in  the  pellucid  air,  it  seemed 
profanity  to  break.  Well,  if  it  were  but  a  thunder-storm 
it  was  certainly  unique  and  most  beautiful. 

Wearied  out  with  the  intense  heat  and  utterly  exhausted, 
I  went  to  bed  early  that  night,  leaving  every  slat  in  the 
closed  jilmils  turned  open,  and  the  punkah  swinging  over 
me  with  its  musical  squeak.  Before  I  went  to  sleep  I  no- 
ticed the  extraordinary  amount  of  animal  life  that  had 
taken  up  quarters  with  me.  Hundreds  of  the  white,  trans- 
parent lizards  that  for  want  of  knowledge  of  the  biological 
name  I  call  glass  bodies,  since  every  organ  in  their  sinuous 
little  bodies  is  visible  through  their  transparent  skin,  scam- 
pered above  over  my  walls  and  ceiling,  devouring  the  green- 
and-gold  flies  that  marched  in,  in  perfect  armies  through 
every  crevice  and  crack;  dozens  of  solemn,  heavy-bodied 
spiders,  too,  came  waddling  in  from  the  garden  and  ver- 
andas and  advanced,  clicking  their  long  legs  on  the  mat- 
ting; long  ribbons  of  black  tree  ants  journeyed  steadily 
over  the  floor  in  the  direction  of  my  bath-room,  while  dur- 
ing the  process  of  undressing  I  came  across  no  less  than  six 
snakes  of  a  harmless  kind  incased  in  my  slippers,  night- 
shirt, and  other  suitable  places.  I  was  too  weary  to  at- 
tempt a  useless  war  against  my  thousands  of  small  invad- 
ers. Doubtless  a  message  of  the  approaching  death  from 
the  skies  had  been  conveyed  to  them  also,  and  they  sought 
asylum  with  me.  So  beyond  picking  up,  by  means  of  a 
tumbler  and  a  bit  of  paper,  a  portly  and  venomous-looking 
scorpion,  that  was  making  its  way  up  to  my  bed,  and 


60  ANNA    LOMBARD. 

throwing  him  through  the  window,  I  made  no  attempt  to 
defend  myself,  but  flung  myself  on  the  charpoy  and  was 
mercifully  soon  asleep.  It  may  have  been  midnight  or 
later — at  any  rate,  it  was  pitch  dark  when  1  was  again 
awakened.  The  punkah  had  ceased.  The  heat  was  so  in- 
tense that  I  sprung  up,  involuntarily  fancying  for  the  mo- 
ment some  one  was  trying  to  smother  me  with  pillow  or 
blanket.  But  no.  It  was  only  the  intolerable  pressure  of 
the  thick,  suffocating  air.  All  round  me  there  was  a  roar 
in  the  air  like  the  roar  of  a  flood,  and  the  noise  of  the  rain 
beating  on  the  roof  was  like  shrapnel  firing.  I  sat  up  for 
a  moment  trying  to  get  my  breath.  There  seemed  no  air 
to  breathe.  It  had  all  become,  apparently,  pea  soup. 
Then  I  was  startled  by  the  drip,  drip  of  water  falling  with 
a  tinkle  into  the  matting,  and  I  suddenly  put  out  my  hand 
and  found  my  sheets  and  pillow  were  sodden  wet.  I  struck 
a  light  and  put  it  to  the  candle.  The  wick  flared  up  and 
showed  me  my  room.  Room!  Great  heavens!  It  was 
more  like  an  unfinished  aquarium.  The  roof  was  leaking 
in  a  dozen  or  more  places,  one  being  directly  over  my  bed, 
and  the  animal  inmates  were  scurrying  about  in  the  great- 
est alarm  on  discovering  the  frail  nature  of  their  shelter. 
Snakes  wriggled  uneasily  over  the  floor,  the  ants  came 
trooping  back  from  the  bath-room,  the  spiders  raced  des- 
perately up  the  curtains,  and  the  lizards  ran  backward  and 
forward  over  the  dripping  ceiling,  sneezing.  I  got  up, 
kicked  aside  the  snakes,  and  put  on  my  boots.  Then  I 
dragged  my  bed  across  the  floor  to  a  part  of  the  room 
above  which  the  ceiling  appeared  to  be  dry.  The  heat  was 
inconceivable;  the  exertion  of  moving  the  bed  made  the 
sweat  pour  from  me,  and  I  sat  down  gasping  with  that 
awful  sense  of  there  being  nothing  to  breathe — nothing 
such  as  we  are  accustomed  to  think  of — only  this  horrible 
thick  mixture  that  makes  one  feel  one  is  sinking  in  quick- 
sand. In  that  moment,  as  I  sat  dripping  with  perspira- 
tion, with  limbs  that  seemed  of  cotton  wool,  and  with 
mouth  hanging  open,  gasping,  I  thought  of  the  unhappy 
fish  I  had  seen,  when  with  anglers,  lying  straining  and 
heaving  on  the  dry  rocks — and  I  was  glad  I  had  never 
fished.  When  I  Lad  recovered  a  little,  I  walked  round  the 
room  rescuing  my  most  precious  possessions — books,  papers, 
and  clothes — from  the  persistent  drip,  drip  that  was  com- 
ing now  from  every  part  of  the  ceiling.  As  soon  as  I  had 


ANNA    LOMBARD.  61 

done  this  I  noticed  the  rain  was  leaking  through  the  dry 
corner  of  the  ceiling  and  iny  bed  was  again  being  dripped 
upon.  I  moved  it  again  to  shelter  and  lay  down  on  it.  I 
dozed  after  a  little  while,  with  the  roar  of  the  rain  in  my 
ears,  and  I  woke  again  with  water — warm,  tepid  water — 
splashing  on  my  face.  I  rose  again  and  dragged  my  bed 
after  me,  but  only  gained  a  few  minutes'  respite;  the  roof 
seemed  giving  way  all  over,  and  the  few  weary  hours  that 
remained  of  darkness  I  spent  chasing  my  bed  round  the 
room  and  puddling  after  it  in  dripping,  steaming  pajamas. 
At  the  first  light  I  put  on  a  holland  suit  and  went  down- 
stairs. The  staircase  had  been  transformed  into  a  dashing 
waterfall.  The  rain  had  poured  into  the  veranda  rooms 
upstairs,  and  rushed  out  again  on  to  the  landings  in  the 
house,  and  from  there  found  its  way  in  a  whirling,  eddy- 
ing torrent  down  the  staircase.  I  picked  my  way  down  it, 
and  entered  my  dining-room,  to  feel  the  carpet  under  my 
feet  give  like  a  sponge  and  go  squelch,  squelch  at  each 
step.  On  the  table  I  saw  no  signs  of  my  fine  white  damask 
cloth  that  usually  adorned  it.  All  over,  for  one-half  inch 
deep,  lay  a  mass  of  struggling,  dying  ants  and  fallen  ants' 
wings.  Every  cup  and  saucer  was  full  of  them,  and  the 
bread  and  butter  invisible  beneath  piles  of  filmy  wings. 
These  creatures,  indued  with  wings  for  a  short  time  at  this 
season  and  driven  in  by  the  rain  outside,  enter  the  room  in 
flying  swarms.  Their  wings  drop  from  them,  they  shed 
them  everywhere — table,  floor,  sideboard  alike  are  covered 
— while  their  struggling  bodies  fall,  either  to  die  at  once, 
or  crawl  away  reduced  to  their  ordinary  means  of  locomo- 
tion again.  I  sighed,  gazing  at  this  repulsive  breakfast- 
table,  and  then  looked  through  the  verandas.  Long, 
bright,  diagonal  lines  from  the  sky  to  earth  everywhere,  so 
close  and  merged  together  that  they  made  a  wall  between 
vision  and  landscape,  and  a  white  mist,  thick  as  smoke,  ris- 
ing upward  from  the  steaming,  thirsty,  drinking  earth. 

I  called  my  servant  and  breakfasted  as  well  as  I  could 
upon  ants'  bodies  and  wings  flavored  with  coffee,  and  ants 
spread  upon  bread-and-butter,  and  then  ordered  my  car- 
riage and  drove  down  to  the  office,  with  the  rain  lashing 
the  top  of  the  buggy  and  the  running  water  in  the  road 
over  the  axles  of  the  dragging  wheels. 

It  rained  for  one  whole  month  without  intermission,  and 
no  one  can  tell  what  I  suffered  during  that  space  of  time. 


62  ANNA    LOMBARD. 

Every  road  became  first  a  running  stream  and  then  a  sort 
of  quicksand,  in  which  foot  or  horse's  hoof  or  carriage- 
wheel  sunk  hopelessly,  so  that  exercise  without  became  an 
impossibility,  and  one  was  confined  to  the  lifeless,  sultry 
air  within  the  silent  bungalow.  Existence  became  a  cruel 
blank;  and  it  so  happened  that  then,  when  I  would  have 
prized  them  so  unspeakably,  all  my  letters  failed  me,  and 
day  after  day  passed  and  post  after  post  came  in,  and  not 
a  line  came  to  me  from  that  dear  outer  world,  where  peo- 
ple were  living,  any  more  than  news  comes  to  the  inmates 
of  the  grassy  graves.  And  on  the  last  night  of  the  month, 
I  came  home,  as  I  remember,  from  a  vain  attempt  at  a 
walk  in  the  torrents  of  lukewarm  rain,  that  fell  persistent- 
ly in  long  straight  lines  from  sky  to  earth,  deadening  every 
thing,  shutting  out  sight  of  everything  but  itself,  shutting 
out  sound  of  everything  but  itself.  The  court-house  had 
been  closed  a  week,  owing  to  the  amount  of  prevailing 
sickness,  so  that  that  exercising  ground,  as  it  were,  for  the 
thoughts,  speech,  and  feelings,  had  been  shut  up.  I  had 
not  spoken  one  word  beyond  orders  to  my  servants  for  the 
last  fortnight.  The  club  was  closed,  nearly  all  the  mem- 
bers were  sick  or  had  managed,  on  one  pretext  or  other,  to 
get  away  for  a  little  leave.  I  entered  my  bungalow  that 
evening,  knowing  there  was  nowhere  to  go,  nothing  to  do, 
no  one  to  see,  no  one  to  speak  to.  I  was  completely  alone 
in  this  blank,  tepid  silence,  shut  in  upon  myself  on  every 
side  by  walls  of  falling  rain.  I  went  through  the  rooms, 
desperately  looking  at  all  the  books;  I  had  read  them  all, 
and  the  newspapers — all  exhausted  long  ago.  Oh,  how  I 
longed  for  a  letter;  how  priceless  one  would  have  been  to 
me  then;  it  would  have  seemed  like  a  hand  stretched  out 
to  me  from  the  real,  living  world  that  was  somewhere  far 
off,  away  in  the  distance.  Where  was  I?  I  seemed  out  of 
the  world.  Dead,  buried,  and  forgotten.  I  stood  still  in 
the  center  of  my  dining-room,  staring  blankly  before  me, 
and  listening  to  the  eternal  low  wish,  wish  of  the  water 
falling  on  the  long-since  sodden  earth. 

"  Poor  Burke!  poor  Burke!"  I  thought.  "  These  were 
just  such  moments  as  he  had." 

Then  I  thought  I  saw  Burke  himself  advance  from  one 
of  the  dark  corners,  and  he  seemed  to  beckon  to  me  and 
say: 

"  Come  on,  come  on;  one  little  shot  in  the  temple  does 


ANNA    LOMBARD.  63 

it,  and,  after  all,  you  are  buried,  and  you  may  as  well  be 
dead." 

Then  I  sat  down  and  hid  my  face  on  the  table  with  a 
smothered  groan.  I  am  going  mad,  I  thought — I  certain- 
ly am.  Oh,  God!  save  me  from  that!  Deliver  me  from 
this  place!  Then  I  sat  still  and  listened  to  the  rain  again. 
It  was  very  quiet,  with  no  sound  at  all  but  this  and  the 
dull  response  of  the  long,  rank  grass  to  it.  Just  exactly 
as  it  must  sound  to  the  corpses  in  the  grave-yard,  I  thought 
to  myself.  Then  I  wondered  why  solitude  should  have 
such  a  terrible,  disorganizing  and  demoralizing  effect  on 
the  human  brain,  and  I  found  myself  murmuring  over  and 
over  again: 

"  They  had  to  destroy  Millbank  and  the  solitary  confine- 
ment system;  they  pulled  it  down  for  the  same  reason. 
All  the  prisoners  went  mad,  yes,  they  went  mad!  and  they 
were  only  confined  a  fortnight  at  a  time." 

And  the  rain  fell  outside  unceasingly  and  the  hours  crept 
by  silently. 

That  night  I  took  a  large  dose  of  chloral,  pouring  it  put 
with  an  unsparing  hand.  I  would  run  the  risk  of  sleeping 
forever  rather  than  remain  awake  that  night. 

The  next  morning  there  were  really  letters  for  me — sev- 
eral letters — and  though  they  were  all  in  long  envelopes 
and  looked  horribly  business-like,  I  seized  upon  them  as  a 
drowning  man  upon  a  life-belt.  They  were  life-belts  to 
me,  drowning  in  this  dead  sea  of  solitude  and  silence,  life- 
belts flung,  as  it  were,  from  that  huge,  comfortable  liner, 
the  world,  full  of  lights  and  life  and  companionship,  stand- 
ing far  off  from  me.  How  I  tore  open  the  tough  blue  en- 
velopes! I  was  <*till  really  then  alive,  a  human  being  to  be 
reckoned  with.  Positively,  last  night  it  seemed  as  if  six 
feet  of  good  church-yard  soil  was  pressing  above  my 
breast.  I  commenced  to  read  the  letters  through,  and  half 
an  hour  later  I  was  walking  round  the  room  with  two  or 
three  sheets  of  blue  paper  clutched  in  my  hand  and  telling 
myself  "  it  was  impossible,"  "  incredible,"  the  chloral  of 
the  night  before  had  affected  my  brain,  and  I  was  going 
cranky  like  Burke.  For  one  letter  informed  me  curtly — 
but  those  words  seemed  to  me  the  sweetest  that  had  ever 
been  written — that  "  various  changes  necessitated  my  im- 
mediate recall  to  Kalatu,"  and  the  other  with  equal  brev- 
ity that,  by  the  will  of  my  late  cousin,  deceased,  I  was  the 


64  ANNA    LOMBARD. 

master  of  an  estate  worth  nearly  two  hundred  thousand 
pounds.  The  liner  had  indeed  thrown  out  not  only  life- 
belts but  a  life-line  and  was  rapidly  hauling  me  on  board! 
And  I  felt  exactly  that  sensation.  When  I  grew  a  little 
calmer  and  had  read  the  letters  again  and  assured  myself 
that  the  words  were  really  written  there  in  good  black  ink, 
I  took  up  my  own  pen  and  wrote  off  at  once  to  Anna.  Not 
one  second  would  1  delay  now  that  I  was  free  to  speak. 
Her  phrase  in  her  very  first  letter,  "  Why  didn't  you  wake 
me?"  came  before  my  eyes  and  encouraged  me,  and  I 
wrote  all  that  she  should  have  heard  then.  I  told  her  my 
own  news,  and  wound  up  by  saying  I  should  start  for 
Kalatu  at  once,  and  that  she  was  not  to  answer  me  till  my 
arrival  there,  when  I  would,  the  very  first  evening,  come 
to  see  her.  Then  I  began  to  walk  up  and  down  my  room, 
trying  not  to  feel  too  glad  about  it  all.  Had  I  been  a 
Greek,  I  should  have  certainly  seen  in  this  unexpected  and 
unusual  good  fortune  the  forewarning  of  some  dire  calam- 
ity— for  no  mortal  is  allowed  to  be  equally  happy  with  the 
gods  for  long — but  I  was  only  a  happy-go-lucky,  unsuper- 
stitious  Briton,  and  I  did  not  feel  the  least  uneasiness. 

The  next  few  days — my  departure  from  Lihuli,  rain- 
soaked  and  steaming,  wrapped  in  a  white  mist;  the  long, 
hot  journey  north;  the  arrival  and  the  first  sight  of  Kalatu's 
palms  and  sparkling,  sapphire  line  of  sea  beyond  the  des- 
ert— is  all  lost  in  a  bright  haze  of  pleasure;  the  clearest 
point  being  when,  tired  and  dusty  and  travel-stained,  I  was 
back  in  my  old  room  in  the  old  bungalow  on  the  Kutcherry 
road,  with  Anna's  housetops  just  visible  across  the  palms 
of  the  intervening  compounds. 

I  changed  my  clothes  hastily,  a  perfect  fever  of  joy, 
hope,  expectation,  and  nervous  pleasure  throbbing  in  my 
\eins.  Then  I  came  down  the  steps  of  the  bungalow  in 
the  glow  of  the  evening  and  flung  myself  into  the  carriage 
and  drove  to  the  Lombards.  As  1  entered  the  compound 
the  sky  flamed  up  with  orange  and  saffron  light,  the  broad 
meidan  on  every  side  rolled  away  like  a  sea  of  fire.  As  the 
wheels  ground  on  the  sandy  path  Anna  herself  stepped  out 
on  the  low  stone  terrace.  My  eyes  rushed  over  her  in  a 
second.  She  was  the  same,  untouched  and  unaltered. 
There  was  the  same  exquisite  freshness  of  the  morning  in 
her  face.  She  came  forward  with  a  soft,  sparkling  smile, 
and  the  light  in  her  hair.  I  sprung  from  the  carriage, 


ANNA    LOMBARD.  65 

which  drove  rapidly  to  the  back  of  the  bungalow  and  up 
the  few  steps.  We  stood  on  the  terrace  alone,  in  the 
orange  sunset,  with  only  great,  warm,  vital,  whispering, 
indulgent  Nature  round  us.  I  took  her  outstretched 
hands,  very  slim  and  white  and  half  lost  in  the  filmy  laces 
of  the  sleeve,  and  so  drew  her  closer  to  me.  I  was  burn- 
ing, overflowing  with  the  force  of  my  joy,  relief,  and  sup- 
pressed passion.  Perhaps  the  electric  force  of  all  these 
passed  through  my  clasp  into  her,  and,  for  the  moment, 
dominated  her;  her  figure  inclined  docilely  toward  me,  and 
she  came  one  little  step  nearer.  My  eyes  were  fixed  on  her 
and  blazing  with  the  fires  within.  She  raised  hers  to  them 
and,  for  an  instant,  it  seemed  to  me  there  was  something 
unutterably  sad  in  the  depths  of  those  passionate,  dark 
blue  eyes;  but  perhaps  it  was  only  seriousness  as  she  felt  a 
crisis  in  her  life  approaching.  The  light  caught  the  almost 
feathery  tips  of  the  wonderfully  long  lashes  and  made  the 
face  indescribably  soft  and  touching. 

The  next  instant,  reading  her  permission  in  that  first 
language  of  the  world — the  looks — I  had  bent  forward  and 
kissed  the  soft,  sweet  lips. 

Within  the  next  hour  the  whole  station  knew  that  we 
were  engaged. 

CHAPTER  IIL 

THE  next  morning  I  woke  up,  I  suppose,  perhaps  the 
happiest  man  in  India.  The  bearer,  bringing  in  the  morn- 
ing coffee,  found  me  with  my  arms  crossed  behind  my 
head  gazing  out  through  the  open  jilmils  to  the  compound 
full  of  the  cool  glory  of  an  Indian  dawn.  Anna  belonged 
to  me,  the  one  woman  between  the  ends  of  the  earth  that 
I  wanted,  that  was  necessary  to  me;  and  not  that  I  wanted 
this  hour  or  day,  in  a  careless  gust  of  animal  passion,  but 
the  being,  the  personality  that  I  should  want  all  my  life, 
without  whom  existence  had  been  empty  before  and  would 
be  empty  again,  but  with  whom  it  was  full,  complete, 
rounded  out,  padded — stuffed,  as  it  were — with  content- 
ment. Lucky  Ethridge!  The  title  seemed  justified  at 
last.  It  was  curious  how  completely  Anna  fulfilled  every 
detail  of  my  ideal  of  girlhood.  Ideal!  It  is  a  hackneyed 
word,  but  it  must  stand.  It  represents  that  which  every 
mind,  consciously  or  unconsciously,  possesses,  and  mine 


66  ANKA    LOMBARD. 

had  been  stored  away  in  the  recesses  of  my  brain  almost 
unknown  to  myself  and  yet  sufficiently  alive  to  turn  me 
away  from  all  women  I  had  met  until  I  saw  Anna.  I 
looked  back  through  all  those  long  rows  of  women  I  had 
known  till  now,  and  there  was  not  one  that  I  had  felt  the 
faintest  impulse  to  take  with  me  as  my  traveling  compan- 
ion down  the  road  of  life.  I  recollected  some  very  beauti- 
ful— how  beautiful  they  had  been!  What  faces  rose  be- 
fore me,  with  their  delicately  penciled  eyebrows,  perfectly 
modeled  noses,  and  rounded  chins  to  match  those  of  statues. 
And  now,  Anna  was  hardly  beautiful  at  all.  She  was  won- 
derfully fresh,  like  the  dawn  in  spring,  but  all  that  per- 
fection of  feature  was  wanting.  Yet  those  beautiful  faces 
had  been  like  empty  masks  hung  in  a  bazaar  for  me. 
There  had  been  selfish  hardness  behind  some,  stupidity  be- 
hind others,  a  sordid  common placeness  of  thought  and 
mind,  or  empty  frivolity.  And  beyond  all — to  me — clev- 
erness was  a  necessity.  Then  there  had  been  clever  wom- 
en— how  clever  and  brilliant! — but  in  this  I  had  never 
found  Anna's  superior  or  equal.  Never  had  I  known  in 
man  or  woman  any  brain  like  this,  so  clever,  so  logical,  so 
gifted,  so  full  of  force  of  intellect,  which  seems  to  make 
itself  felt  in  even  the  simplest  words  and  actions  of  the  one 
•who  possesses  it.  And  then  the  other  clever,  great  minds 
I  had  known,  they  had  all  been  coupled  with  intolerable 
defects,  of  which  hardness  of  heart  and  a  cruelty  in  the 
moral  nature  were  the  most  common.  Anna's  hardness 
and  keenness  existed  in  her  brain  and  intellect  alone;  it 
left  a  heart,  the  softest,  tenderest,  most  compassionate  pos- 
sible. Then  yet  there  was  another  class  of  women — women 
with  beautiful  faces  and  soft,  lovable  natures,  sweet  voices 
and  tender  ways  like  Anna's,  and  passionate,  sympathetic 
hearts  like  hers,  and  to  these  I  had  been  drawn  most  of 
all;  but,  then,  on  a  little  acquaintance,  how  they  wearied 
one!  There  was  nothing  more  than  this.  There  was  no 
brain  to  be  a  companion  to  one's  own;  there  was  no  com- 
prehension of  one's  deepest  thought,  nothing  to  meet  one's 
own  idea,  and  the  sweet,  mild  glances  from  the  beautiful 
eyes  at  last  wearied  one  and  disappointed  one  and  left  one 
unsatisfied.  There  was  no  mentality  to  rush  forward  in  a 
passionate  ecstasy  to  meot  one's  own  through  these  gates 
to  the  soul.  They  were  beautiful  gates,  it  is  true,  but  less 
to  a  soul  than  a  desert.  And  Anna  seemed  to  stand  before 


ANNA    LOMBARD.  67 

me  this  morning  arrayed  in  my  mental  vision  just  as  I 
would  have  her.  There  was  the  glory  of  the  morning,  of 
sweet  life  and  youth  and  color  to  charm  and  lead  captive 
my  senses  and  give  to  all  my  mental  adoration  of  her  that 
last  touch  of  ecstasy  that  physical  passion  alone  has  the 
power  to  bestow;  there  was  the  tender,  loving  heart,  on 
which  a  dying,  bleeding  soul  might  rest  and  forget  its 
wounds,  and  think  that  death  was  sleep;  and  there  was  the 
bright,  sparkling  intellect,  ready  and  eager  to  understand, 
to  respond,  the  one  gift  that  makes  man  in  this  brief  life 
equal  to  the  gods. 

Yes.  To  me  she  was  perfect.  She  was  all  that  I  want- 
ed, all  that  I  had  ever  wanted,  and  she  was  mine.  I  got 
up  and  dressed. 

That  evening  I  did  not  go  to  dinner,  but  called  after- 
ward and  found  the  Lombards  and  some  friends  all  seated 
outside  on  the  stone  veranda.  I  joined  them  and  was  ac- 
corded with  a  smile  the  chair  next  Anna.  We  all  chatted 
together  for  some  time,  and  then  the  general  suggested 
somebody  should  sing. 

"  Don't  let  us  go  inside,"  said  Anna,  gently.  "  It  is  so 
much  cooler  here." 

"  Well,  Ethridge  plays  the  guitar,"  he  returned. 
"  You'll  find  a  guitar  just  inside  the  dining-room,"  he 
added,  turning  to  me.  "  Fetch  it  and  start  some  of  these 
young  people." 

I  went  obediently  and  fetched  the  guitar,  resumed  my 
seat,  tuned  the  instrument,  and  then  announced  I  would 
accompany  any  one  who  would  sing.  But  no  one  hastened 
to  accept  the  offer.  Then  the  general  made  an  individual 
appeal  to  each  in  turn.  Most  of  them  made  excuses,  and 
the  young  man  next  Anna  drawled  out  that  he  did  not 
know  anything  to  sing.  When  it  came  to  Anna  she  said: 

"  I  will  sing  you  a  little  Greek  song,  if  you  like.  I  don't 
seem  to  remember  anything  else,  just  at  this  minute." 

There  was  general  acclaim  at  this,  and  everybody  de- 
clared that  a  Greek  song  was  what  they  had  been  most 
wishing  for,  and,  indeed,  almost  expecting;  and  I  thought, 
as  I  nervously  pulled  up  the  string  a  little  higher,  "  Good 
heavens!  what  sort  of  an  accompaniment  will  that  want?" 

Anna,  as  if  divining  my  fears,  leaned  toward  me  and 
hummed  the  tune  in  my  ear.  It  was  a  very  quaint  but 


68  ANNA    LOMBARD. 

simple  one,  and  I  caught  it  and  managed  to  follow  her. 
Then  she  sung  Anacreon's  famous  ode  to  the  dove. 

The  tune  changed  in  the  second  verse  and  had  a  most 
catching  ring  and  swing  in  it,  as  the  soft,  expressive  voice 
sent  out  the  words  on  the  still,  pearly  air. 

Most  of  the  men  present,  with  myself,  understood  the  ex- 
pressive words,  and  it  brought  back  curious,  misty  recol- 
.  lections  of  college  days,  which  somehow  seem  so  far  oil 
when  we  have  once  gone  out  from  port  on  life's  ocean;  and 
for  the  women  it  was  an  amusement  to  hear  the  quaint- 
sounding  old  language  and  the  curious,  swinging  tune. 
When  she  ceased  there  was  much  applause  and  gratitude. 
Only  the  young  man  next  her  drawled  out  with  a  most  con- 
temptuous sneer: 

"  Fancy  having  your  head  so  full  of  Greek  that  you 
can't  sing  anything  else!" 

The  tone  was  so  inconceivably  rude  that  I  sprung  up  in 
my  chair  with  a  retort  on  my  lips.  But  Anna  was  clever 
and  her  brain  sharp  as  steel,  in  spite  of  her  rose-like  softness 
of  looks,  and  she  could  quite  well  take  care  of  herself  when 
she  chose.  She  had  turned  in  her  chair  and  answered, 
with  an  exact  imitation  of  his  tone: 

"  Fancy  having  nothing  in  your  head,  so  that  you  can't 
sing  at  all." 

And  there  was  a  general  laugh  that  was  decidedly  with 
Anna. 

For  two  days — for  this  reason  memorable  days  in  my 
life — I  was  happy,  supremely  content  and  satisfied.  Work 
was  light  to  me,  hours  flew  by  on  their  gilded  wings  like 
moments,  and  the  blood  in  my  veins  seemed  a  mixture  of 
fire  and  wine,  rather  than  the  ordinary  legitimate  British 
material.  But  the  evening  of  the  last  of  these  two  days 
brought  with  it  a  chill  of  apprehension.  It  was  a  some- 
thing very  light  and  slight,  such  as  the  first  little  cold 
whisper  of  the  wind  flying  in  front  of  a  still  distant  storm. 
I  was  walking  home  alone  through  the  sultry,  gorgeous 
tropic  night  from  a  long  evening  spent  almost  alone  with 
Anna  on  the  veranda  and  in  that  paradise  of  whispering 
palms  and  bending  grasses  and  sleeping  flowers,  the  Lom- 
bards' compound.  I  had  been  persuading  her  to  fix  the 
hour,  the  day,  fo  •  our  marriage;  and  the  soft,  distressed, 
yet  determined  resistance  I  had  met  with  had  at  first  as- 
tounded and  lastly  frightened  me.  Her  head  had  been  on 


ANHA    LOMRA.ED.  69 

my  shoulder,  her  arms  round  me,  our  breasts  pressed  close 
till  the  hearts  beat  one  against  the  other.  Yet  a  chasm 
was  opening  between  u«,  because  our  desires  were  not  the 
same. 

"  No,  Gerald,  I  really  don't  wish  it." 

And  I  did  wish  it,  and  there  was  the  great  abyss  be- 
tween us. 

Then  I  pressed  for  reasons.  I  asked  questions.  Did 
she  love  me? 

Yes,  she  loved  me  with  all  the  strength  of  her  nature — 
and  what  a  wild,  passionate  nature  that  was  I  alone  knew, 
and  was  to  know  still  more  profoundly  later.  Were  there 
any  family  reasons  for  delaying  our  marriage?  Had  her  fa- 
ther any  thing  to  do  with  her  answer?  No.  None.  Nothing. 
It  was  simply  her  own  wish. 

Then  how  could  she  love  me  so  much  and  not  wish  to 
marry  me? 

She  couldn't  tell.  A  year  ago  she  would  have  consented 
at  once;  but  1  had  delayed  for  a  year,  and  now  she  wanted 
to  delay  a  littlej  she  could  not  tell  how  long. 

Would  she  really  have  accepted  me  before  I  went  to 
Burmah?  I  had  asked,  and  oh!  the  agony  of  my  heart  as 
she  had  answered: 

"  I  would  have  married  you  that  same  day,  had  you 
wished  it.  I  felt,  after  our  first  meeting  that  first  night, 
that  you  were  the  being  in  the  whole  world  I  was  to  love 
with  all  my  soul.  My  whole  nature  went  out  to  you  and 
accepted  you.  I  felt  my  heart  opening  to  your  smiles  as  a 
flower  uncloses  itself  to  the  touch  of  the  sun.  Your  arms 
held  me  in  the  dance,  and  to  those  arms  I  would  have 
trusted  myself  forever.  I  can  not  explain  to  you  why,  ex- 
cept that  love  and  trust  and  confidence  in  you  were  borne 
in  upon  my  mind." 

"  And  when  I  went  away  without  speaking  you  were  dis- 
appointed?" 

My  voice  was  uncertain;  a  hot  mist  was  forcing  itself 
over  my  eyes. 

"  Yes." 

Her  answer  was  so  frank,  so  certain,  so  unwavering. 

Then  I  broke  out  into  wild  protestations,  my  reasons  for 
my  action,  my  love  for  her,  my  unselfish  motives,  all  my 
thought  had  been  for  her.  To  which  she  listened  quietly 
and  as  quietly  replied; 


70  ANNA    LOMBARD. 

"  I  know.  You  have  told  me.  I  understand.  But  in 
acting  as  you  did,  you  ran  the  risk." 

"  But  you  say  you  still  love  me?" 

"  I  do!  I  do!" 

And  her  lips  were  pressed  to  mine  with  a  passion  that 
went  through  and  through  me  in  waves  of  fire. 

"  And  no  one  has  come  between  us  in  the  interval?"' 

"  Could  I  love  two  men  at  the  same  time?" 

I  laughed. 

"  Well,  what  is  it?  What  is  it?  You  are  the  soul  of 
truth.  Tell  me  why,  just  your  reasons,  and  I  swear  I  will 
be  patient." 

"  I  have  told  you.  It  is  just  a  wish  of  mine  to  delay  a 
little — as  you  did." 

"  But  I  had  my  reasons." 

"  You  did  not  tell  them  to  me." 

And  so  at  last  I  had  come  away  from  her,  confused,  per- 
plexed, puzzled,  distressed  beyond  words  and  —  fright- 
ened. Yes,  for  as  a  slight  symptom  will  tell  to  a  physi- 
cian, surely  and  without  hope,  the  approach  of  a  loathsome 
and  relentless  disease,  so  to  my  brain  this  strange  phase  of 
her  feeling  foretold  something,  though  I  could  not  discern 
what,  of  menace  to  the  future. 

And  as  I  walked  onward,  reviewing  all  that  had  been 
said  by  us  both,  I  grew  cold  and  chill  in  the  sultry  air. 
When  I  reached  my  bungalow  I  opened  a  bottle  of  cham- 
pagne and  drank  half  of  it,  and  then  flung  myself  into  a 
long,  cane  chair  for  a  smoke  and  I  began  to  see  things  more 
lightly  and  philosophically.  It  was  certainly  very  extraor- 
dinary, and  all  that  Anna  had  said  that  evening  had  been 
most  contradictory,  but  there  might  be  some  very  simple 
explanation  of  it  all.  She  might  have  some  secret  girlish 
motive  for  wishing  to  postpone  the  marriage,  that  she  was 
too  shy  to  confide  to  me.  The  main  point,  that  she  loved 
me,  that  her  heart  was  mine,  entirely  mine,  seemed  to  be 
absolutely  self-evident.  She  really  loved  me;  no  man,  I 
think,  could  mistake  those  thousand  little  evidences  she 
gave  me  in  every  tone  and  action;  and,  therefore,  loving 
me,  she  could  certainly  love  no  other.  Would  not  any 
man  have  reasoned  as  I  did  that  night? 

Then  it  flashed  upon  me  that  she  might  have  become 
ywasi-entangled  in  some  engagement  with  some  man  she 
ttid  not  love.  That  would  account  for  all,  including  her 


ANNA    LOMBARD.  71 

denial  of  love  for  any  one  else.  (And  here  an  error  had 
crept  imperceptibly  into  my  caiculations,  for  she  had  not 
given  me  any  such  denial.)  The  following  day  I  would 
make  inquiries.  I  would  try  to  find  out  whether,  in  my 
absence,  talk  had  connected  Anna  with  any  one  in  the  sta- 
tion. There  could  hardly  be  anything  existent  in  the  way 
of  an  engagement,  love-affair,  or  merest  flirtation,  that  the 
station  would  not  know  of.  Then  I  would  try  to  straighten 
matters  out  for  her;  and  if  I  once  knew  the  point,  perhaps 
some  point  of  honor  with  her,  I  could  help  her  with  some 
counsel  or  consolation.  Having  thought  all  this  out  to  my 
satisfaction  during  the  smoking  of  seven  cigarettes,  I 
turned  into  bed  much  comforted.  The  next  morning  I 
immediately  began  my  investigations  with  the  greatest  care 
and  caution  and  delicacy.  But  evening  came  and  found 
me  with  precisely  the  opposite  result  of  my  inquiries  from 
that  which  I  had  expected.  In  fact,  my  own  previous 
opinion  of  Anna  had  been  completely  ratified.  Every  one 
agreed  that  there  was  no  individual  in  the  station  that  Anna 
favored  more  than  another.  And  the  announcement  of  my 
engagement  to  her  had  come  partly  as  a  surprise,  but  more 
as  an  explanation  of  her  exceeding  seriousness  of  conduct 
and  coolness  of  manner  to  every  one  else.  She  distributed 
her  dances  evenly,  seldom  dancing  more  than  once  with 
the  same  person.  If  she  allowed  Lieutenant  Tomkins  to 
ride  with  her  one  morning,  she  accorded  that  same  privi- 
lege to  Lieutenant  Simkins  the  next.  In  short,  the  whole 
time  I  had  been  absent  she  had  been  noted  for  her  gentle 
though  cold  indifference  to  all  the  officers  and  civilians  in 
the  station.  To  some  extent  pleased  with  all  this,  I  fell 
back  on  the  idea  that  Anna  had  some  purely  personal  and 
fanciful  reason  for  delaying  our  wedding;  and  I  came  to  the 
conclusion  that  it  would  be  best,  whatever  it  cost  my- 
self, to  humor  her  and  be  as  patient  as  I  could,  to  alLw 
the  subject  to  remain  untouched  upon  for  a  week  or  two, 
and  then  press  my  petition  again.  In  the  meantime  I  de- 
voted my  energies  to  devising  all  sorts  of  entertainments. 
My  principal  object  in  this  was  to  delight  and  amuse  Anna 
and  find  excuses  for  having  her  perpetually  with  me.  But 
also,  undoubtedly,  the  station  expected  great  things  of  me. 
The  news  of  the  fortune  I  had  inherited  spread  all  over  the 
neighborhood  and  confirmed  everybody  in  their  envious  re- 
frain of  "  lucky  Ethridge."  Now,  as  a  young  assistant  com- 


92  ANNA    LOMBARD. 

missioner  with  no  income  but  my  paj,  I  had  been  gener- 
ously entertained  by  every  married  woman  in  the  station, 
when  I  could  give  little  return  for  hospitality  beyond  gen- 
eral amiability;  and  now  that  I  was  installed  in  a  big  bunga- 
low of  rny  own,  with  a  surplus  of  ready  money,  I  was  only 
too  willing  to  pay  off  my  social  debts.  The  more  I  was 
thrown  in  Anna's  society  and  the  more  we  talked  together, 
the  more  her  remarkable  character  and  intellect  shone  out 
before  me.  I  felt  somehow  a  vague  sensation  that  she  was 
not  entirely  suited  and  fitted  to  this  humdrum  nineteenth 
century,  that  her  character  and  her  mind  belonged  rather 
to  seme  more  stirring  time,  when  personal  courage  was  at 
a  premium  and  excitement  was  every-day  food  for  every 
one.  It  was  not  that  she  was  not  perfectly  calm  and  irre- 
proachable in  every  way,  in  conduct,  looks,  and  words. 
She  had  a  peculiarly  graceful  and  fascinating  manner,  and 
every  one  in  the  station  agreed  she  was  charming.  It  was 
only  when  we  were  alone,  riding  cr  driving,  and  had  es- 
caped from  the  beaten  tracks  of  conversation,  that  she  said 
things  and  expressed  opinions  that  gave  me  a  faint,  pecul- 
iar sense  of  her  extreme  independence  and  of  something 
wonderfully  strong  in  her  character — something  large, 
larger  than  the  nature  of  mr>st  women,  something  also  ex- 
tremely courageous,  that  called  for  an  heroic  age  to  find 
its  natural  exercise.  Among  the  other  things  I  had 
studied,  the  history  of  the  Middle  Ages  had  always  pos- 
sessed a  great  fascination  for  me;  and  now  I  was  suddenly 
drawn  again  toward  it  by  the  name  of  the  girl  I  loved,  and 
by  the  peculiar  timbre  of  her  nature  that  seemed  familiar 
to  me  and  came  to  me  as  an  echo  from  the  past.  I  began 
to  read  again  in  my  odd  moments  of  leisure  between  gov- 
ernment and  social  work — and  really  the  latter  is  nearly  as 
hard  as  the  former! — the  volumes  of  medieval  history  I  had 
brought  out  with  me;  and  night  after  night,  when  it  was 
too  hot  to  sleep,  I  sat  turning  over  the  pages  of  the  musty 
old  tomes  that  chronicled  the  events  of  those  musty  old 
times.  One  night  I  came  suddenly  upon  the  biography  of 
Catherine  Sforza,  and  read  it  through  from  beginning  to 
end.  At  the  end  of  the  old  quarto  volume  was  a  full-page 
portrait  of  this  notorious  and  evil  woman.  And  I  looked 
at  it  for  a  long  time  with  peculiar  interest.  It  was  a  fine 
engraving  and  represented  the  Sforza  in  a  moment  of  tri- 
umph, just  after  she  bad  completed  to  her  satisfaction  the 


ANNA    LOMBARD.  73 

manufacture  of  one  of  her  deadly  poisons.  She  was  repre- 
sented in  her  laboratory,  and  having  just  removed  her  glass 
mask,  she  looked  out  at  you  from  the  print  with  a  peculiar 
arresting  gaze.  There  was  something  curiously  familiar  in 
the  expression,  in  the  look  about  the  luminous  eyes  of 
force — great  mental  force  and  power;  and  all  at  once,  in  a 
flash,  it  came  to  me  whence  arose  that  feeling  of  recogni- 
tion. 

"  Anna  could  look  like  that,  I  am  sure  she  could,"  I 
thought.  I  sat  for  a  long  time  with  the  open  page  before 
me,  and  a  strange  fancy  came  to  me  that  I  would  like  to 
see  her,  just  so,  in  this  attitude,  dress,  and  environment, 
and  see  whether,  in  reality,  the  resemblance  was  fulfilled. 
But  what  excuse  could  I  give  if  I  told  her  this?  And  every- 
thing in  the  picture  was  so  unlike  the  surroundings  one  has 
in  modern  India  that  I  certainly  never  should  see  her  thus. 
Then  another  thought  flashed  upon  me:  "Get  up  some 
tableaux  vivants  !"  What  could  be  more  orthodox,  more 
commonplace  than  that?  What  would  please  the  station 
more,  and  all  the  empty-headed  young  girls  and  foolish 
old  women  in  it  more  than  this — an  entertainment  where 
they  could  dress  as  extravagantly  and  as  unsuited  to  their 
years  or  their  faces  as  they  pleased,  and  wear  their  hair 
down?  Great  idea!  If  I  knew  the  station  well  in  which  I 
lived,  nothing  could  be  more  popular,  more  universally  ac- 
ceptable. I  shut  the  book  and  went  to  bed.  And  the 
Sforza  with  her  flaming  red  hair  stood  at  the  foot  of  the 
cJiarpoy  all  night,  holding  her  glass  mask  and  looking  at 
me  with  those  strange,  compelling  eyes. 

The  next  morning  I  invited  four  of  the  youngest,  gayest, 
and  most  friendly  married  women  to  luncheon  with  me  and 
unfolded  my  scheme  to  them,  begging  them  to  be  my 
managing  committee. 

As  I  anticipated,  it  was  hailed  with  cries  of  delight. 

'*  Mr.  Ethridge,  yon  are  just  too  lovely  for  anything!" 
exclaimed  Mrs.  Sinclair,  who  possessed  fine  hair — all  her 
own. 

"  It  must  be  the  greatest  fun  in  the  world,  only  those 
things  cost  so,"  remarked  Mrs.  Wilson,  the  wife  of  a  lieu- 
tenant, with  a  sigh. 

I  explained  that  I  proposed  to  make  a  general  fund  of 
two  thousand  rupees,  from  which  any  of  the  committee 
might  draw  all  they  wanted.  Costumes,  curtains,  lights, 


74  ANNA    LOMBARD. 

wigs,  every  source  of  expense  I  would  provide  for  with  the 
greatest  pleasure.  Every  one  of  my  committee  was  to 
have  absolute  carte  blanche.  This  delighted  them  beyond 
everything. 

"  I  would  so  like  to  be  Joan  of  Arc  an'd  wear  my  hair 
down,"  recommenced  Mrs.  Sinclair,  putting  up  her  hand 
to  it. 

"  We  must  choose  the  pictures  to-day,"  announced  Mrs. 
Muggridge,  decisively,  who  also  had  tine  hair,  but  could 
not  exactly  have  been  wearing  it  down  for  forty  years  at 
least. 

"  What  have  you  chosen  for  Miss  Lombard?"  demand- 
ed Mrs.  Tillotson,  who  was  young  and  keen  of  mental 
vision. 

I  knew  that  perfect  frankness  with  women,  who  always 
see  through  you  whether  you  are  frank  with  them  or  not, 
was  the  only  safe  policy,  and  luncheon  being  over,  I  rose 
and  got  down  the  heavy  quarto  volume,  found  the  place 
and  opened  it  there,  in  silence,  before  them. 

"That  dreadful  woman!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Sinclair. 
"  Why,  Mr.  Ethridge,  that's  not  a  bit  like  Anna!" 

"  How  very  strange!"  murmured  Mrs.  Muggridge. 
"  Now,  I  was  going  to  suggest  Gretchen  sitting  at  the 
spinning-wheel.  That  fair  hair  of  Anna's,  you  know,  in 
two  plaits,  and  then  her  coloring,  so  Saxon,  almost  Ger- 
man, one  might  say." 

"  Gretchen  is  not  in  the  least  the  type  of  humanity  that 
Anna  is,"  I  returned,  "  and  I  can  not  imagine  her  spin- 
ning." 

"  But,  good  gracious!  you  don't  imagine  Anna  is  like 
this  type  of  woman?"  asked  Mrs.  Wilson,  in  a  shocked 
tone. 

"  No,  I  don't,"  I  said  at  once  with  energy.  "  Only 
there  is  a  certain  link  between  them.  I  don't  quite  know 
what,  but  I  think  it  is  the  link  of  courage  and  intense 
mentality." 

The  three  women  looked  at  me  with  that  deferential 
blankness  of  expression  one  meets  so  often  in  society  when 
one  is  not  in  the  least  understood.  Mrs.  Tillotson  bent 
over  the  picture  in  silence  for  a  minute,  then  she  nodded 
approvingly. 

"  What  do  you  think?"  I  asked  her. 

"  She  will  do  it,"  she  returned,  laconically. 


ANISTA    LOMBARD.  75 

And  so,  without  further  opposition,  that  was  decided 
upon  for  Anna.  The  rest  of  the  afternoon  was  spent  in 
arranging  the  general  plan  of  the  entertainment  and  choos- 
ing pictures  for  the  four  on  the  committee.  I  had  a  whole 
library  of  great  volumes,  and  in  gratitude  for  their  cordial 
support,  I  diligently  searched  away  in  them  till  pictures 
for  each  one  of  them  had  been  found  that  supremely  satis- 
fied them.  Mrs.  Sinclair  was  furnished  with  a  most  strik- 
ing Joan  of  Arc,  bound  to  a  stake,  with  hair  to  an  indefi- 
nite extent  streaming  round  her,  as  one  sees  in  the  adver- 
tisements of  Edwards's  Harlene.  Mrs.  Muggridge  was 
easily  persuaded  that  she  alone  could  do  justice  to  her 
favorite  Gretchen.  A  certain  stoutness  of  figure  was  not 
wholly  unsuited  to  the  florid  style  of  German  maidenhood, 
and  her  hair  was  certainly  light  and  would  lend  itself  to 
two  plaits.  Mrs.  Wilson,  who  was  the  wife  of  the  lieu- 
tenant on  two  hundred  and  fifty  rupees  per  mensem,  rev- 
eled in  the  picture  of  the  "  Queen  of  Sheba,"  loaded  with 
the  most  astounding  silks  and  jewels.  Mrs.  Tillotson, 
tiny,  slight,  dainty,  small-footed  and  agile,  fluttered  the 
pages  of  innumerable  volumes  contemptuously,  then,  open- 
ing a  book  of  French  travel,  she  hit  upon  the  picture  "  A 
Paris  Gamin."  This  young  gentleman,  in  ragged  coat, 
shirt,  and  trousers,  with  a  shock  of  untidy  hair  and  fun- 
loving  eyes,  was  depicted  in  the  act  of  throwing  a  somer- 
sault, and  was  practically  standing  on  his  hands,  head 
downward,  with  his  bare  feet  in  the  air.  She  would  be 
that  or  nothing,  she  declared.  The  remainder  of  the  com- 
mittee was  shocked. 

"  And  you  couldn't  do  it,  my  dear.  You  couldn't 
maintain  that  attitude,"  urged  the  kind  and  maternal  Mrs. 
Muggridge. 

"  It  will  have  to  be  a  short  tableau,"  coolly  returned 
little  Mrs.  Tillotson,  "  a  snap-shot,  as  it  were,"  and  she 
gazed  lovingly  at  the  gamin's  high-poised  feet — the  most 
striking  thing  in  the  picture. 

What  a  chance  to  display  those  little  feet  of  hers — the 
only  ones  in  the  station  that  could  wear  a  No.  2  shoe!  She 
had  no  hair  to  boast  of,  so  that  the  downward  hanging 
shock  head  did  not  trouble  her.  And  finally  she  had  her 
way.  At  five  o'clock  they  left  me,  burning  to  carry  the 
news  to  the  station,  and  I  sat  down  to  write  to  a  Bombay 
firm  the  order  for  the  material  I  wanted  for  the  Sforza's 


76  ANNA    LOMBARD. 

gown,  and  to  others  for  the  accessories  such  as  glass  masks, 
mortars,  etc. — things  which  can  not  be  found  in  the  highly 
respectable  shops  at  Kalatu.  That  same  evening  I  had 
my  bearer  carry  the  volume,  containing  the  picture,  to  the 
Lombards.  I  showed  Anna  the  picture  and  told  her  my 
ideas.  She  looked  long  at  the  picture,  then  she  said: 

"  Catherine  Sforza  was  a  cruel  and  a  wicked  woman.  I 
do  not  want  to  poison  any  one,  and  should  never  be  at  all 
likely  to  do  it." 

"  No,  I  know!"  I  exclaimed,  eagerly.  "  Oh,  Anna! 
you  have  the  teuderest  heart  in  the  world.  You  have 
nothing  in  common  with  this  woman,  nothing  except  the 
force  of  character,  the  courage,  the  strength  of  brain  she 
must  have  had  to  live  the  life  she  did.  Her  crimes  were 
the  crimes  of  her  century.  Her  great  mental  force  threw 
itself  into  crime,  because  crime  was  the  order  of  her  time; 
and  you  have  that  same  force,  which  you  would  throw  into 
great  and  heroic  deeds  if  they  were  to  be  done." 

"  I  don't  know,  I'm  sure,"  returned  Anna.  "  But  I'll 
try  to  fulfill  your  expectations  as  to  looking  like  this  pict- 
ure, though  I  really  do  think  you  might  have  found  some 
more  orthodox  person  for  me." 

"  I  do  not  think  that  would  have  been  nearly  so  suitable, 
you  see,"  I  returned,  laughing. 

For  the  next  fortnight  I  hardly  knew  my  own  house. 
The  committee  took  possession  of  it,  and  my  sedate  Mo- 
hammedan servants,  I  believe,  gained  the  impression  that 
I  was  inaugurating  a  seraglio.  It  was  not  altogether  com- 
fortable to  be  so  invaded,  but  I  was  amply  repaid  by  the 
freedom  it  gave  me  of  Anna's  society.  It  was  very  de- 
lightful, coming  back  from  my  work  at  five,  to  find  Anna 
and  Mrs.  Tillotson  sitting  on  a  carpenter's  bench  in  my 
front  drawing-room,  with  cups  of  tea,  supplied  from  my 
pantry  and  kitchen,  in  their  hands,  chatting  together,  and 
watching  the  work  that  was  going  forward  in  the  back 
drawing-room,  namely,  of  transforming  the  wide-pillared 
arch  between  the  two  rooms  into  a  colossal  picture-frame, 
and  with  the  floor  all  round  them,  and  every  chair  and 
table  covered  with  silk  scarves,  gilt  crowns,  jewels,  antique 
prints,  and  wood  shavings.  Then  Anna  would  look  up 
and  say: 

"  Oh,  Gerald!  we've  been  waiting  for  you  to  advise  us 
about  this!" 


ANHA    LOMBARD.  7? 

And  I  would  sit  down  by  them,  and  then  Mrs.  Tillotson 
would  go  off  !x>  fetch  something,  and  Anna  and  I  would  be 
left  alone  on  the  carpenter's  bench,  in  the  disordered  room, 
with  only  the  native  workmen  at  the  other  end  of  it  hang- 
ing up  gilt  moldings. 

But  if  I  had  looked  forward  to  seeing  Anna  pose  and  re- 
pose before  me,  I  was  disappointed.  "  Somehow,"  she 
said,  looking  hard  at  the  picture,  "  I  can  work  myself  up 
to  looking  like  this  once;  but  if  I  rehearse  it  I  shall  lose 
he  spirit  of  it,  and  I  sha'n't  be  able  to  do  it.  You  had 
better  give  me  all  the  things  and  tell  me  what  has  got  to 
be  done,  and  I'll  try  to  do  it  when  the  time  comes." 

I  told  her  I  was  having  the  dress  made  exactly  as  it  was 
in  the  picture;  but  the  darsi  would  want  to  fit  her  some 
:ime,  and  that  I  had  sent  to  Bombay  for  a  box  of  powder 
Jor  her  hair. 

"  Catherine  had  red  hair,  hadn't  she?  How  are  you 
joing  to  make  mine  red?" 

I  looked  at  her  sunny,  yellow  hair,  running  into  flaxen 
or  gold  in  its  different  creases. 

"  If  you  put  this  bright  red  powder  all  over  it  thickly, 
it  will  be  the  Sforza's  hair.  Do  you  see  how  it  clusters 
and  waves  in  the  picture?  With  the  red  powder  yours  will 
be  the  very  thing." 

"  I  don't  see  why  you  should  be  so  anxious  to  see  me  in 
such  a  horrid  character,"  she  said,  discontentedly,  staring 
at  the  print  and  knitting  her  delicate,  marked  eyebrows. 
"  That  woman  murdered  dozens  of  people.  Now,  I 
couldn't  murder  anybody." 

"  Yes,  you  could,  my  Anna,  only  with  a  good  motive,  I 
know;  but  if  you  had  that,  you  would  not  hesitate,  I  am 
sure  of  it." 

She  was  staring  at  me  with  wide  eyes. 

"  Gerald!  How  can  you  say  such  dreadful  things? 
Why,  I  can't  bear  to  kill  anything.  1  won't  let  the 
meteranni  kill  the  spiders  in  my  bedroom,  though  I  hate 
them.  I  wouldn't  kill  anybody  to  save  my  own  life 
— even  in  self-defense." 

"  No,"  I  said,  gently,  "  I  know  all  that;  but  to  save 
another  you  would — me,  for  instance." 

She  looked  at  me,  laughed,  and  colored. 

"  What  nonsense  we  are  talking!  Here  comes  Ethel 
back  again,  Now,  be  sensible." 


78  ANNA    LOMBARD. 

Ethel  Tillotson  reappeared,  bringing  in  her  train  two 
angry-looking  girls.  They  were  the  two  prettiest  girls  in 
the  station — a  Miss  Johnson,  tall  and  lithe,  with  dusky  hair 
and  skin  and  midnight  eyes,  and  Miss  Jeffries,  short  and 
round  and  fat,  with  Saxon  hair  and  skin,  and  eyes  like 
great,  flat  turquoises  under  a  brow  of  snow. 

"  Now,"  said  Mrs.  Tillotson  to  Anna,  "  you  are  to  be  a 
Solomon  and  settle  this  matter.  Here  are  two  May 
Queens!  What  are  we  to  do  about  it?'* 

Anna  looked  at  both  the  girls  quietly — flushed,  wrath- 
ful, and  confused  at  finding  me  there,  whom  they  evidently 
had  not  expected. 

"  You  should  be  the  May  Queen  of  England,"  she  said, 
calmly,  to  the  Saxon  girl  without  the  least  hesitation,  while 
Miss  Johnson  opened  her  eyes  and  glared  at  her  wrath- 
fully.  "And  you,"  she  added,  turning  to  the  other, 
"  will  make  a  magnificent  Rosiere — the  Rose  Queen  of 
France.  Won't  that  do?  The  pictures  are  almost  iden- 
tical, only  you  will  each  be  types  of  the  two  different  coun- 
tries, and  the  pink  of  the  roses  will  suit  you  much  better 
than  English  May." 

The  girl  bent  over  the  picture  of  the  "  Rose  Queen  of 
France,"  and  her  wrath  disappeared. 

"  How  clever  you  are,  Anna!"  she  said,  with  a  gay  smile 
over  her  shoulder  as  she  went  away  with  the  engraving. 

"  Well  done,  Solly,"  said  Mrs.  Tillotson,  patting  her 
head.  "  Now  you've  just  got  to  leave  Mr.  Ethridge  and 
come  and  show  me  how  to  fix  this  chair  so  that  it  won't  be 
seen  by  the  audience.  I  must  have  it  to  lean  upon  when  I 
am  standing  on  my  head." 

Anna  rose  with  a  bright  parting  smile  at  me,  and  Mrs. 
Tillotson  carried  her  off  behind  the  scenes. 

Now,  as  every  one  knows,  there  is  nothing  so  efficacious 
as  private  theatricals  for  bringing  out  the  innate  selfish- 
ness, conceit,  and  smallness  of  human  nature,  and  I  fully 
experienced  this  through  the  next  fortnight;  but  among 
all  the  pettiness,  the  malice  and  uukindness,  the  fret  and 
fussing  of  all  these  women,  Anna  stood  out  alone  as  un- 
moved and  unspoiled  by  it.  She  said  very  little  about  her 
own  part,  and  took  all  the  chaff  and  remonstrances  aboufc 
the  "horrid  woman"  she  was  to  personate,  and  her 
"  hideous  red  hair  "  in  good  part. 


ANNA    LOMBARD.  79 

"  Gerald  wishes  it,"  was  all  she  said  in  answer  to  jests, 
questions,  and  mockery. 

She  helped  prettier  girls  than  herself  to  dress  their  hair 
and  choose  their  garments  to  the  most  advantage.  She 
lent  generously  from  her  own  wardrobe  and  jewel-case. 
She  smoothed  out  quarrels,  and  turned  the  venomous  re- 
marks of  one  woman  to  another  aside  as  often  as  she  could; 
and  praised,  consoled,  complimented,  and  softened  the 
temper  of  them  all.  And  in  those  days  I  grew  to  know 
her  and  love  her  better  than  ever.  There  was  no  mean- 
ness, no  small  cruelty,  no  hardness  in  her  character.  It 
was  like  some  of  our  Indian  stuffs,  woven  true,  both  sides, 
upper  and  under  alike,  and  velvety  all  through. 

At  last  the  eventful  evening  came,  and  I,  who  had  not 
once  seen  her  stand  for  the  picture,  was  full  of  wonder  and 
curiosity  as  to  how  far  she  would  catch  the  spirit  of  it. 
From  early  afternoon  my  whole  house  had  been  in  a  tur- 
moil, like  a  bee-hive  in  which  there  is  an  internal  revolu- 
tion. But  by  eight  o'clock,  when  the  curtains  were  to  be 
drawn  aside  from  the  first  picture,  everything  seemed  to 
be  in  perfect  order.  The  audience  were  all  seated,  and, 
as  far  as  they  could  judge,  perfect  peace  and  calm  reigned 
behind  those  heavy  maroon  curtains.  I,  who  had  seen  the 
back  of  these  for  the  past  two  weeks,  doubted  the  last 
proposition;  but  appearances  were  admirably  maintained. 
The  front  drawing-room  was  an  enormous  room,  and  now, 
cleared  entirely  of  furniture,  it  accommodated  a  large  num- 
ber of  chairs.  All  the  station  had  been  invited  and  quite 
three-fourths  of  it  had  come. 

I  hardly  noticed  the  other  pictures.  Anna's  was  the 
sixth  on  the  list,  and  I  waited  for  that  one  with  my  heart 
beating  and  my  eyes  hardly  seeing  the  others  as  they  passed 
before  me.  When  the  curtains  were  drawn  aside  for  the 
sixth  tableau,  they  revealed  Anna  standing  alone  in  the 
center  of  the  stage.  There  was  little  to  distract  attention 
from  her.  The  whole  picture  was  that  one  figure,  the 
wonderful  pose  and  expression  of  the  face.  She  stood  at 
her  full  height,  but  leaning  a  little  forward  toward  the 
audience.  In  one  hand  she  held  the  transparent  glass 
mask,  and  in  the  other  the  marble  basin  holding  the  just- 
manufactured  poison.  Her  eyes — naturally  large,  and 
painted  now  for  stage  requirements — looked  out  straight 
before  her,  over  the  heads  of  the  audience,  burning,  full  of 


80  ANNA    LOMBARD. 

light  and  a  strange,  mystic  fire;  a  curious  smile  curled  her 
lips  slightly,  a  smile  of  elation,  of  triumph  in  her  success, 
and  yet  half- tender,  as  if  she  were  moved  with  pity  and 
regret  for  what  she  had  done.  The  people  sat  motionless 
in  their  seats  and  gazed  silent  and  fascinated  at  that  fac<'. 
To  me  it  showed  a  perfect  conception  of  the  character,  and 
I  sat  wrapped  in  an  intense  satisfaction,  feeding  my  fancy, 
carried  back  absolutely  to  the  Middle  Ages,  seeing  her  at 
last,  as  it  seemed  to  me,  in  her  true  form  and  guise.  She 
stood  perfectly  immovable;  the  rich  green-blue  silk,  that 
had  cost  me  so  much  trouble,  falling  in  the  most  statuesque 
folds  and  reflecting  curious,  vivid  gleams  of  light  from  the 
heavy,  swinging  lamps  which  hung  directly  above  her 
head.  Her  hair,  powdered  till  it  was  crimson  as  the  pict- 
ured hair  of  the  Siorza,  was  pushed  back  from  her  temples 
and  forehead,  and  fell  in  thick  masses  just  on  the  nape  of 
her  neck  and  behind  her  ears.  The  sleeves  of  the  dress 
were  long  to  the  very  wrist,  and  ruffled  according  to  the 
fashion  of  the  day;  and  from  their  edge  a  deep  fall  of  lace 
concealed  the  hand  almost  down  to  its  slim,  white  finger- 
tips. But  though  her  arms  were  covered,  her  neck  was 
not.  The  full,  white  throat  was  bare,  and  the  light  from 
above  struck  the  white  shoulders  where,  just  at  the  top  of 
the  close  sleeve,  they  seemed  to  have  burst  through  their 
silken  bands.  I  sat  and  steeped  my  eyes  in  the  sight  of 
her — my  realized  dream  standing  in  front  of  me. 

My  care  had  not  been  expended  in  vain  on  the  picture. 
It,  too,  was  entirely  true  to  the  medieval  idea.  Somber 
curtains  of  heavy  stuff  and  color  formed  all  the  back- 
ground; a  tripod  of  bronze,  crucible,  and  furnace  stood  at 
her  right  hand,  and  on  her  left  a  stand  covered  with  glass 
masks,  mortars,  pestles,  and  jars  without  number,  of  the 
most  approved  medieval  shapes  and  patterns.  It  made  a 
very  striking  and  curious  picture,  to  which  the  wonderful 
expression  on  the  girl's  face  lent  all  its  life  and  reality. 
The  audience  had  the  Sforza  before  them,  and  their  breath- 
less silence  and  immovability  showed  they  felt  the  same 
fascination  that  was  so  fatal  to  her  lovers  in  the  past  centu- 
ries. It  was  very  different  from  the  other  tableaux,  and 
met  with  a  different  reception.  For  a  second  after  the 
curtains  closed,  instead  of  the  light  laughter  and  applause 
that  had  greeted  the  others,  there  was  a  dead  silence,  then 
a  deafening  clamor.  The  audience  realized  that  the  pict- 


rAHN"A    LOMBARD.  81 

ure  had  vanished,  and  that  unless  desperate  efforts  were 
made,  they  would  not  be  able  to  recall  it.  With  one  ac- 
cord every  one  present  clapped  and  cheered.  The  blase  or 
sleepy  elderly  officers,  and  the  fatigued  and  languid  women 
in  the  front  row  seemed  electrified,  while  the  young,  un- 
bridled subalterns  I  had  massed  at  the  back  kicked,  yelled, 
and  stamped,  after  the  manner  of  their  kind  when  grati- 
fied. In  a  few  seconds  they  succeeded  in  making  the  cur- 
tains divide  and  recalling  the  seventeenth  century. 

Catherine  gazed  over  and  beyond  them,  and  the 
light  gleamed  on  her  glass  mask  and  her  mortar  of  poison, 
and  her  red  hair  for  another  seventy-five  seconds,  and  then 
the  curtain  closed  upon  her  as  before.  And  the  crowd  at 
the  back  yelled  again,  and  the  rows  in  front  risked  making 
themselves  hot  with  clapping. 

The  poisonous  fascination  of  the  Sforza  seemed  to  work 
as  well  on  the  nineteenth  century  as  on  the  seventeenth. 
Four  times  she  looked  out  upon  them,  calm,  triumphant, 
tender,  and  vindictive;  yet  the  applause  was  undiminished. 
The  curtain,  however,  remained  closed  and  dark.  Then, 
when  the  clamor  and  encores  from  the  front  and  kicks  from 
the  back  were  at  their  loudest,  a  sudden  silence  fell  on 
them,  as  if  a  pall  had  been  dropped  on  the  audience  from 
the  ceiling.  Catherine  herself  moved  in  front  of  the  great 
curtain  and  faced  them.  She  lost  nothing  of  the  character 
in  so  doing,  and  the  audience  were  enraptured;  she  moved, 
she  looked,  she  stood,  an  image  of  the  past. 

"  I  am  tired  of  mixing  poisons,"  she  said;  and  though 
she  did  not  seem  to  raise  her  voice  at  all,  it  went  all 
through  the  crowded  room,  and  it  seemed  calm  and  a  trifle 
arrogant — such  a  voice  as,  indeed,  the  Sforza  may  have 
had.  "  Please  excuse  me  now,"  and  she  bowed  very  easily 
and  naturally,  moved  across  the  stage  in  front  of  the  cur- 
tain, and  disappeared  before  the  astonished  audience  had 
recovered  themselves. 

I  left  my  seat  and  went  round  to  the  back  of  the  stage. 
As  I  passed  the  door  of  the  room  that  answered  to  a  green- 
room I  heard  animated  voices  inside,  and  just  as  I  ap- 
proached I  heard  Anna's  voice  saying,  with  perfect  good 
humor: 

"  Well,  who  asked  me  to  come  to  your  stupid  old  tab- 
leaux ?  You  wanted  me  as  much  as  any  one." 

I  entered  and  saw  the  Sforza  leaning  back  in  a  long 


82  AXNA    LOMBARD. 

chair,  with  her  slim,  terrible  fingers  crossed  behind  her 
head  and  its  red  hair,  and  facing  her  stood  an  irate  little 
May  Queen,  in  a  muslin  dress,  whose  flushed  cheeks  and 
puckered-up  brows  looked  the  reverse  of  queenly.  Round 
the  two  stood  the  remaining  pictures — those  who  had  ap- 
peared and  those  who  had  not.  Feeling,  apparently,  was 
running  a  little  against  Catherine,  since  she  was  the  only 
one  who  had  been  favored  with  an  encore — and  she  had 
taken  four!  They  all  turned  at  my  entrance  and,  seeing 
who  it  was,  looked  confused  and  uncomfortable.  The 
Sforza  looked  across  at  me,  nodded  and  smiled. 

"  Here's  Rosa  abusing  me  because  I  kept  her  waiting  so 
long  that  her  complexion  has  all  melted  off  and  run  down 
her  neck,"  she  said,  lightly.  "  It's  all  your  fault  for 
choosing  a  picture  that  took  their  fancy  so.  I  had  very 
little  to  do  with  it." 

By  this  speech,  in  which  she  negatived  the  idea  of  her 
own  charms  having  had  any  weight  with  the  applauders, 
she  evidently  mollified  the  women  somewhat.  They 
looked  less  gloomy,  and  the  May  Queen  put  her  crown 
straight  and  began  to  rub  more  powder  over  her  face. 
Catherine  herself  got  up  and  arranged  her  dress  for  her, 
and  put  a  tiny  touch  of  rouge  on  each  cheek,  which  made 
the  girl  of  the  turquoise  eyes  look  so  pretty  in  the  mirror 
that  Catherine  was  holding  up  before  her,  that  peace  was 
restored,  and  the  May  Queen  hurried  away  to  the  front. 
All  the  remaining  women  began  talking  at  once,  and  they 
soon  took  the  Sforza,  so  unruffled,  so  undated  by  her  four 
encores,  back  into  favor. 

I  stood  listening  with  impatience,  longing  for  some  mo- 
ment when  I  should  be  alone  with  the  Sforza.  It  did  not 
come  in  the  green-room.  There  was  endless  chatter  and 
bustle  there,  pictures  coming  in  and  out,  gossiping,  arrang- 
ing their  hair  and  gowns  in  front  of  the  long  glass,  talk- 
ing, laughing,  and  saying  alternately  pleasant  and  spiteful 
things  about  one  another.  In  the  midst  of  it  all  Catherine 
sat  resting  coolly,  with  true  medieval  calm;  and  I,  not  lik- 
ing to  deliberately  ask  her  to  come  away  from  the  others, 
stood  by  her  side.  At  last,  when  all  the  pictures  had  been 
shown  and  we  were  getting  hungry,  there  was  a  general 
move  made  in  the  room.  The  curtains  were  closed  for  the 
last  time,  and  the  stage  was  being  cleared,  when,  sudden- 


ANNA    LOMBARD.  83 

ly,  to  our  surprise,  we  heard  cries  from  the  still-seated 
audience : 

"  Catherine  Sforza!    Catherine  Sforza!" 

A  silence  fell  on  the  room,  and  the  women  all  looked 
toward  Catherine  with  envy  mingled  with  surprise.  "  Why 
is  all  this  fuss  made  about  her?"  their  looks  said  plainly; 
"  she  is  not  beautiful;  she  is  not  half  so  good-looking  as 
many  of  the  others  here!"  Which  was  strictly  true,  but 
oh!  the  charm,  the  magnetism  in  her  which  was  wanting 
in  those  others! — at  least  so  it  seemed  to  me;  but  then  I 
was  prejudiced. 

Catherine  heard  the  shouts  as  plainly  as  the  rest,  and, 
after  a  moment,  she  rose  indolently  from  her  chair. 

"What  a  bore  those  people  are,"  she  said;  "d d 

bore,  I  think!"  she  added,  in  a  mischievous  undertone  to 
me,  with  a  laugh  that  disclosed  a  flash  of  her  white  teeth, 
and  she  nodded  assent  to  the  servants  who  came  to  know  if 
they  should  set  up  the  alchemistic  interior  for  Catherine 
again. 

I  rushed  round  to  the  front  again  and  hastened  to  my 
seat,  not  to  lose  a  moment  of  that — to  me — fascinating 
picture.  And  when  it  had  disappeared  for  the  last  time 
and  the  audience  were  slowly  disengaging  themselves  from 
their  seats,  I  found  the  pictures  all  trooping  out  of  the 
green-room,  anxious  to  mingle  with  the  spectators  and  hear 
compliments  at  close  range. 

It  had  been  decided  that  each  picture  should  maintain 
its  dress  and  character  throughout  the  evening,  so  here 
they  all  were — the  May  Queen  and  Rosiere,  Gretchen  and 
the  Queen  of  Sheba,  the  Dancing  Girl,  Joan  of  Arc,  and  a 
host  of  others,  and — the  Paris  Gamin.  Mrs.  Tillotson  was 
delighted;  her  tableau  had  been  greeted  with  roars  of 
laughter  and  genuine  applause.  In  fact,  she  could  have 
taken  an  encore  had  she  felt  inclined  to  stand  on  her  head 
seventy-five  seconds  longer,  but  she  hadn't.  And  here  she 
came,  sparkling,  mischievous  and  pretty,  her  short,  shock 
hair  tumbling  into  her  eyes,  and  her  ragged  shirt,  making 
the  excuse  for  a  charming  piece  of  decollete  work,  which 
showed  very  daintily  a  V  of  gleaming  white  bosom;  while 
her  little,  ivory  feet,  perfectly  bare,  tripped  fearlessly 
about  beneath  her  ragged  trouser-ends.  Next  to  the 
Sforza,  she  was  decidedly  the  most  popular  picture  among 
the  men  of  the  evening.  The  two  crowds  met  and  mingled 


84  ANNA    LOMBARD. 

with  much  laughter,  flattery,  and  jesting;  ancl  simul- 
taneously made  for  the  head  of  the  short,  broad  staircase 
leading  to  the  dining-room.  Half-way  down  was  an  alcove 
leading  to  the  conservatory,  draped  by  portieres,  and  hid- 
den from  view  of  the  staircase.  As  I  saw  the  Sforza  come 
from  the  green-room,  I  took  her  arm  and  hastened  her 
down  the  few  stairs  to  the  recess,  drew  her  behind  those 
heavy,  friendly  curtains  and  then  gathered  her  up  into  my 
arms  recklessly,  half-choking  and  bruising  her. 

"  My  darling!  my  Old- World  darling!"  I  murmured, 
straining  her  closely  to  me,  and  so  for  a  moment  soothing 
the  pain  and  the  passion  that  struggled  and  tore  each  other 
in  my  poor,  aching  heart.  "You  were  splendid  to-night 
—perfect!" 

Was  I?"  she  said,  very  softly,  nestling  up  close  to  my 
heart  and  putting  her  arm  around  me.  "  I  am  so  glad  you 
were  pleased  with  me." 

When  with  me  all  her  arrogance,  coldness,  and  con- 
temptuous indolence  of  manner,  with  which  she  often 
treated  her  enemies  or  faced  the  world,  disappeared.  With 
me,  whatever  pride  she  might  possess  she  put  at  my  feet. 
To  me  she  was  always  yielding,  submissive,  clinging,  lov- 
ing, and  simple.  This  change,  this  distinction  she  made 
for  me  had  in  it  a  subtle  and  intoxicating  flattery. 

I  crushed  her  up  to  me  and  kissed  her  again  and  again, 
on  her  red  hair  and  painted  eyes  and  fresh  mouth,  and  she 
yielded  herself  passionately  to  me. 

"  I  don't  want  to  be  the  Sforza,"  she  whispered  in  my 
ear,  "  nor  anybody,  except  just  your  own  little  girl." 

"But  you  are  not  my  own  yet,"  I  whispered  back,  my 
heart  beating  so  violently  that  it  seemed  as  if  it  would  leap 
from  my  throat. 

"  I  didn't  say  I  was.     I  said  I  wanted  to  be." 

"  Then  what  prevents  you?"  and  my  voice  sounded  harsh 
and  strange  to  myself,  it  was  so  strained  with  nervous  pas- 
sion. 

"  Hush!  There  are  people  coming!  Let  me  go!  Be 
patient  with  me  a  little  while!" 

There  were  feet  passing  the  alcove,  and  some  one  even 
brushed  and  almost  swept  back  the  curtains  behind  which 
we  stood.  We  paused  a  moment,  drawing  back  and  keep- 
ing silence;  then,  as  the  steps  and  voices  went  on  down  the 
stairs,  I  gave  her  my  arm  and  we  went  out  arid  down  to 


ANNA.    LOMBARD.  85 

the  supper-room  like  a  couple  in  the  calmest  frame  of 
mind. 

The  room  had  been  arranged  under  my  own  eye,  and  it 
certainly  presented  a  pleasing  vision  as  we  entered.  Hosts 
of  little  tables,  just  large  enough  for  two  people,  stood 
everywhere  under  the  swinging  lamps  that  sent  out  differ- 
«nt-colored  rays  from  their  varied  glass  shades.  Wreaths 
and  hanging  bands  of  roses,  common  in  India  as  daisies  in 
Eigland,  were  looped  from  lamp  to  lamp,  so  that  the 
guests  sat  under  a  veritable  canopy  of  roses,  and  the  air 
was  laden  with  their  fragrance.  At  one  side  of  the  room 
ran  i  long  table,  piled  up  with  large  blocks  of  natural  un- 
cut ice.  The  bowls  of  punch  and  all  the  various  dishes 
and  wines  for  the  supper  veiled  under  the  shade  of  in- 
numerable epergnes  of  flowers.  At  this  table  waited  a  line 
of  native  servants,  noiseless,  white-clad  figures,  ready  to 
serve.  The  number  of  tables  corresponding  to  the  number 
of  couples,  people  found  their  places  easily  and  without  for- 
mality; and  when  they  were  all  seated  I  joined  Anna  at  the 
table  I  had  chosen  for  her — one  set  at  the  upper  end  of  the 
room  beside  a  heavy  blue  velvet  portiere,  and  decorated  en- 
tirely with  white  roses,  while  the  Eastern  glass  casing  to 
the  lamp  above  it  shot  down  violet  and  crimson  rays  on  the 
Sforza's  hair.  Every  one  was  hungry  and  thirsty  appar- 
ently; at  any  rate,  the  room  was  soon  filled  with  the  clat- 
ter of  knives  and  forks,  the  continued  report  of  flying 
corks,  and  the  bubbling  of  laughter  and  talk  across  the 
tables. 

Anna  was  very  silent  through  the  supper.  She  sat  gaz- 
ing at  me  steadily  and  earnestly  with  those  wide,  innocent, 
appealing  blue  eyes  of  hers,  that  could  be  so  brilliant  or  so 
passionate  as  she  chose;  and  then  quite  suddenly,  toward 
the  close,  when  there  was  much  noise  and  laughter  in  the 
room,  and  much  champagne  had  been  drunk,  so  that  no- 
body was  any  longer  very  critical  as  to  what  others  were 
doing,  she  leaned  across  the  little  table  between  us,  and 
looking  up  quickly  and  full  into  her  face,  I  saw  her  eyes 
were  veiled  a  little  by  drooping  lids  and  those  long,  voluptu- 
ous lashes,  and  a  curious  fire  was  burning  under  them.  I 
recognized  instantly  something  I  had  never  seen  in  her 
face  before.  It  was  her  womanhood  looking  out  behind 
the  mask  of  her  girlhood.  Then  a  whisper  came  to  my 
ears — a  little,  faint,  shy  half- whisper,  but  one  that  had  a 


86  ANNA    LOMBARD. 

new  accent  in  it;  and  my  heart  recognized  that,  as  my  eye 
had  recognized  her  expression: 

"  Gerald,  you  are  loved  as  very  few  men  are.    You  are, 
indeed.'* 


CHAPTEE  IV. 

THE  evening  of  the  tableaux  was  over  and  I  was  alone  in 
my  room.  I  was  sitting  at  the  long  window  looking  w/th 
idle,  unseeing  eyes  out  into  the  tangle  of  foliage  and  b'os- 
som  in  the  hot  moonlight.  Every  pulse  beat  hard  svith 
joy;  there  seemed  one  long,  triumphal  note  ricging 
through  my  head.  Anna's  glance  and  whisper  to-night 
had  transformed  the  air  to  rose  color  about  me  and  filled 
it  with  music. 

There  was  no  question  about  the  truth,  the  genuineness, 
the  spontaneity  of  those  few  words.  Everything  had  been 
pushed  aside  for  the  moment,  and  Nature  had  come  for- 
ward herself  and  spoken  to  me  from  under  those  veiling 
lashes  and  in  that  quick,  half-frightened  whisper.  I  did 
not  sleep  at  all  that  night,  nor  even  attempt  to.  I  sat 
looking  out  into  that  fertile  wilderness  of  beauty  before  me 
and  watching  the  liquid  moonlight  spilled  among  the  quiv- 
ering leaves. 

It  so  happened  the  following  day  I  could  not  find  one 
moment  for  my  own  in  which  I  could  go  to  see  Anna. 
Duty,  business,  and  the  commissioner,  who  seemed  sud- 
denly that  day  to  grow  from  an  ordinary  English  gentle- 
man into  the  most  exacting  tyrant,  kept  me  all  day.  And 
when  in  the  evening  I  went  round  to  the  white  bungalow 
in  the  palms  I  was  told  by  the  servant  that  the  Miss  Sahib 
was  lying  down  and  could  not  be  disturbed.  I  would  not 
go  again  to  make  an  ordinary  call  and  have  to  talk,  per- 
haps, commonplaces  with  her  and  her  father  for  an  hour 
or  so.  It  was  not  what  I  wanted.  I  decided  to  wait  until 
she  had  retired  for  the  night  and  then  steal  into  her  com- 
pound and  up  to  her  window  and  gain  a  few  delicious  mo- 
ments with  her  alone,  and  say  and  hear  a  few  sentences 
that  were  worth  to  me,  just  then,  all  our  other  conversa- 
tions put  together. 

So,  after  dinner,  I  had  my  long  cane  chair  put  outside 
the  bungalow  and  sat  there,  waiting  impatiently  until  it 
should  be  ten  o'clock.  As  soon  as  the  hour  came,  the  silent 


A1OTA    LOMBARD.  87 

sais  appeared  with  my  horse;  and,  slinging  my  guitar 
across  my  shoulders,  I  flung  myself  into  the  saddle  and 
cantered  out  of  the  compound  with  a  light  heart.  My 
horse's  footfalls  fell  without  sound  on  the  soft,  red  roads; 
the  air  was  still  and  heavy;  and  as  I  neared  the  Lombards' 
bungalow  the  rich,  stealthy  odor  of  the  stephanotis  hedges 
crept  out  toward  me  and  suffused  itself  all  round  me,  as  I 
approached.  When  I  reached  the  gates  1  dismounted  and 
fastened  the  Arab  to  one  of  the  posts.  Then  on  foot  I  en- 
tered, and,  leaving  the  main  path,  struck  across  through 
the  pomegranate  bushes  and  rose-trees  by  a  side-walk  that 
I  knew  led  beneath  her  room.  As  I  pushed  aside  the  fra- 
grant branches  and  made  my  way  on  silently,  the  wonder- 
ful glory  of  the  night  and  the  scene  came  home  to  me, 
absorbed  and  fired  though  I  was  by  other  thoughts.  Above 
me  rose  the  white  stone  pile,  snowy  as  the  purest  marble 
in  the  moonlight — and  even  the  moonlight  is  not  cold  in 
India;  it  seems  warm,  lustrous,  and  mellow;  unlike  the 
lights  of  the  Northern  moon.  The  open  balustrade  work 
round  the  square,  flat  roof  stood  out  sharply;  and  over  it 
in  places,  drooping  to  the  garden,  fell  like  purple  rain  the 
great  blossoms  of  the  tropical  parasites.  Above  the  roof 
rose  the  palms,  motionless  in  the  heavy,  heated  air;  and 
through  their  branches  I  could  see  the  wheeling  stars  and 
the  great,  glittering  Scorpion,  head  downward  in  the  violet 
sky,  preparing  for  his  plunge  beneath  the  horizon.  As  I 
advanced  farther  through  the  tangle  of  the  roses,  the  heavy 
breath  of  stephanotis  and  tuberose  grew  more  and  more 
oppressive,  until  at  last,  when  I  stood  beneath  her  win- 
dow, it  weighed  upon  the  senses.  I  glanced  round  me. 
There  was  deep,  hot  stillness  everywhere.  The  whole  of 
Anna's  room  was  built  out  from  the  house — being  really 
nothing  more  than  an  extended  veranda — and  from  the 
casement  ran  down  to  the  compound  a  little,  light  iron 
stair-way,  which  white  convolvulus  and  passion-flowers  and 
magnolia  had  embraced  with  their  twining  arms,  till  it 
seemed  like  a  stair- way  of  flowers.  I  passed  round  behind 
this,  and  then  was  standing  practically  under  the  floor  of 
her  chamber.  All  was  profoundly  still.  I  slipped  the 
guitar  round  and  had  it  in  position  against  my  breast.  I 
bent  over  it,  and  was  just  going  to  sound  one  of  the  strings 
that  I  thought  might  have  slipped  in  coming,  when  a  whis- 
per, a  breath — it  was  hardly  more — struck  upon  my  ear. 


88  ANNA    LOMBARD. 

I  looked  up,  my  heart  beating  to  suffocation.  Anna's  win- 
dow was  set  wide,  and  from  there  I  knew  the  sound  had 
floated  out  upon  the  tranquil  air.  For  the  first  moment  I 
thought  she  had  been  awake  and  seen  me  coming,  and  my 
heart  leaped  up  with  joy.  The  word  "  Anna!"  rose  in  a 
joyful  cry  and  had  almost  burst  from  my  lips,  when  it 
stayed  frozen  there.  Another  whisper  came  down  to  me, 
clearer  than  the  last: 

"  Ke  Wmlsurat  ho  !"  ("  How  beautiful  thou  art!") 

It  was  Anna's  voice  and  speaking  in  Hindustani.  Her 
voice,  and  yet  as  I  had  never  heard  it.  There  seemed  a 
deep  contralto  note  in  it — a  vibration  of  intense  passion. 
Ana  I  stood  beneath,  immovable,  stunned,  and  paralyzed. 
Thick,  intense,  palpable  silence  for  many  seconds,  and 
then  again  that  deep  whisper  in  the  air,  terribly  distinct  to 
my  distended  ear. 

"  Tumko  asliik  karti  hun!"  ("  Hove  you!"),  and  then 
two  long  sighs,  and  then  silence  again,  so  long,  so  absolute 
that  it  seemed  to  mock  all  sound  as  a  dream. 

I  stood  there  rigid,  tense.  Then  I  looked  up.  Why  did 
not  the  sky  fall  or  the  stars  rush  together  or  the  white 
wall  above  me  crumble  upon  me?  But  no,  all  was  un- 
changed. The  glorious  sky  looked  down  upon  me  and  her 
unmoved.  The  wilderness  of  white  and  pink  roses  stretched 
round  me.  The  heavy  scent  still  weighed  upon  the  silent, 
dreaming  air.  I  can  not  say  what  I  felt.  Looking  back 
upon  those  moments,  I  can  remember  nothing  but  a  horri- 
ble blank  of  pain.  I  stood  there  a  long  time,  forgetting  I 
had  limbs  to  move  away.  Then,  at  last,  mechanically 
grasping  the  guitar,  I  took  my  way  silently  back  along  the 
little  rose-path  by  which  I  had  come,  and  found  myself 
eventually  at  the  compound  gate.  I  unfastened  the  Arab, 
who  stood  pawing  the  soft,  red  sand  and  arching  his  neck, 
and  mounted  him.  Then  I  shook  the  reins  loosely  and 
gave  him  his  head,  and  he  plunged  forward  into  a  long 
gallop,  like  the  wind,  toward  the  sea. 

At  Kalatu,  between  cantonments  and  the  sea,  there  lies 
the  desert,  a  band  of  it  two  miles  in  width.  The  sand  is 
yellow,  and  the  desert  wind  passes  over  it,  rippling  it  with 
waves  like  the  sea.  There  are  countless  green  tussocks 
scattered  over  it  where  the  coarse,  dry  grass  bends  unhurt 
beneath  the  burning  wind.  Across  this,  with  heads  toward 


AHHA    LOMBARD.  89 

the  sea,  we  went,  and  clouds  of  sand  rose  silently  from  the 
Arab's  flying  hoofs,  and  miles  and  miles  of  undulating  sand 
stretched  away  on  each  side  under  the  starlight.  For 
hours  I  was  mad — as  mad,  I  think,  as  any  madman  con- 
fined in  an  asylum.  Eage,  unreasoning  anger,  jealousy, 
and  disappointed  physical  passion  flung  back  upon  itself 
s-.vept  down  upon  my  brain,  and  tore  at  it  between  them,  as 
wild  dogs  tear  at  a  carcass.  My  fingers  quivered  on  the 
reins,  and  when  the  motion  beneath  me  seemed  ever  so 
slightly  slackened,  I  urged  the  animal  onward  without 
rest.  So  in  a  wild  gallop  we  came  to  the  edge  of  the  cliffs, 
and  here  the  Arab  stopped  and  planted  his  feet,  nearly 
flinging  me  from  the  saddle,  and  snorted,  as  he  saw  the  de- 
clivity before  us  and  the  silver  sands  and  sea  far  below. 

I  paused  to  let  him  rest,  for  I  felt  him  quivering  beneath 
me  with  fatigue  and  strain,  and  stroked  his  neck  with  my 
hand.  Eeason  was  coming  back  to  my  brain,  reason  and 
self-control  and  all  those  qualities  that  bar  the  man  from 
the  brute.  Self-respect  rose  again  from  where  it  had  lain 
trampled,  and  ordered  the  dogs  of  rage  and  lust  back  into 
their  kennels,  and  I  grew  calm.  There  was  a  sandy,  wind- 
ing path  down  the  face  of  the  cliffs,  and  I  put  my  horse  to 
it  and  we  walked  slowly  down  it  to  the  sand.  The  tide  was 
receding,  and  great  stretches  of  wet  shore  lay  exposed  and 
glimmering.  The  moon  was  sinking  now,  and  blood-red 
in  the  mist  near  the  horizon,  it  gave  the  Water  a  reddish 
tinge;  and  the  slow,  languid,  red  waves  lapped  soundlessly 
upon  the  slimy  sands. 

What  had  I  been  doing?  I  asked  myself.  I  had  been 
distrusting  her.  I  ought  rather  to  have  distrusted  my  own 
senses.  And  suppose  I  had  heard  her  murmured  whis- 
pers. Might  she  not  have  been  murmuring  them  to  the 
empty  air?  Might  she  not  have  been  reading  or  reciting 
some  Hindu  love-poem  or  tale?  Might  she  not  even  have 
been  speaking  to  some  child  or  some  pet  in  her  rooms?  It 
was  unjust,  unfair,  unworthy  to  let  such  thoughts  enter 
my  mind  as  had  been  borne  in  by  those  words;  and  not, 
perhaps,  so  much  the  words  as  that  vibrating  accent  that 
still  seemed  thrilling  all  the  air  around  me.  I  was  calm 
now,  and  the  judicial  attitude,  natural  to  my  mind — to  in- 
vestigate, to  inquire,  to  assume  nothing — was  coming  back 
to  it.  But  in  my  heart  there  seemed  a  dead  weight,  a 
crushing  chill  that  had  stamped  out  all  its  ardent  life  of 


90  ANNA    LOMBARD. 

an  hnur  ago.  The  brain  may  reason  and  weigh  and  wait 
to  judge,  but  the  heart  is  unreasonable  and  can  only  feel. 

I  rode  till  day-break,  slowly  now,  for  that  first  fierce  fire 
had  burned  itself  out,  and  with  it  had  gone  forever  the 
dew,  as  it  were,  of  my  life;  the  first  freshness  of  a  first 
lore.  When  I  saw  the  quivering  pallor  in  the  east  that 
precedes  the  dawn,  and  noted  the  lines  of  the  sand-hills  de- 
fining themselves  against  it,  I  turned  my  horse's  head  and 
rode  homeward. 

To  change  my  clothes  and  take  away  all  traces  of  the 
past  night's  employment  and  eat  a  hurried  breakfast  was 
the  work  of  an  hour,  then  I  had  to  bend  my  mind  to  statis- 
tics of  the  native  States — a  volume  of  much  importance, 
which  the  commissioner  was  preparing,  with  my  help,  for 
the  press — for  four  long  hours,  and  then,  feeling  almost  in 
a  lethargy,  such  is  the  effect  of  overexcited  anxiety,  I  drove 
to  the  Lombards'  and  entered  the  open  house-door. 

I  went  in  and  found  her  sitting  in  the  soft,  subdued 
light  of  the  shaded  drawing- room,  in  a  low  wicker-chair, 
perfectly  dressed  in  white,  as  usual,  with  her  feet  slightly 
raised  on  a  low  Persian  stool,  and  her  hands  lying  idle  in 
her  lap.  Beside  her  on  a  table  stood  a  spray  of  white  roses 
in  water,  and  her  fair  face  bloomed  through  the  soft  light, 
fresh  and  immaculate  as  the  morning.  As  she  sat  there 
she  would  have  formed  a  good  artist's  study  for  a  picture 
to  be  called  "  Innocence,"  "  Maidenhood,"  "  Purity,"  or 
any  other  similar  and  equally  suitable  title.  As  I  advanced 
into  the  room  she  rose  to  greet  me,  and  I  took  her  into  my 
arms  and  kissed  her. 

She  looked  up  at  me  with  those  warm  eyes  of  hers  full 
of  soft,  caressing  light. 

"  You  look  terribly  pale  and  ill,  Gerald.  What  is  the 
matter?"  she  asked,  and  the  voice  I  had  heard  last  night 
in  those  terrible  whispers  that  had  scorched  life  and  hope 
o  ut  of  my  heart,  seemed  to  fall  strangely  on  my  ears  now. 

"  Yes,  I  do  feel  very  ill,"  I  answered,  sitting  down  be- 
side her;  "  but  it  is  more  a  mental  illness  than  physical. 
Anna,  I  have  come  to  say  you  must  fulfill  your  promise  to 
me  now,  at  once.  We  must  be  married  within  the  next 
few  days,  or  I  shall  leave  for  the  hills,  and  when  I  return 
we  shall  meet  as  acquaintances  only." 

The  light  and  color  died  out  of  her  face  suddenly;  but 


ANNA    LOMBAKD.  91 

she  took  the  situation  exactly  as  it  was,  and  answered  me 
as  directly  as  I  had  spoken. 

"  I  should  have  said  what  I  am  going  to  say  long  before 
now.  I  can  not  possibly  marry  you  now  or  at  any  time." 

"  Why?"  I  asked,  simply. 

"  Because,"  she  answered,  facing  me,  her  steady  eyes 
fixed  on  mine  beneath  their  level  brows,  "  because  I  should 
have  to  tell  you  certain  facts  first.  This  I  do  not  want  to 
do;  and  if  I  did,  you  would  not  marry  me.  So  it  is  at  an 
end,"  and  she  drew  from  her  finger  the  band  of  sapphires 
I  had  given  her,  and  laid  it  on  a  little  console  table  that 
stood  in  front  of  us. 

She  was  very  pale,  and  her  eyes  were  painfully  dilated 
and  looked  black;  but  she,  apparently,  like  myself,  was 
determined  to  be  calm  and  stifle  all  emotion  which  might 
prevent  her  saying  what  she  had  to  say.  I  had  judged  her 
rightly.  She  did  not  mean,  had  never  meant,  to  marry 
me  with  lies  on  her  lips. 

"  And  suppose  I  know  already  these  things?"  I  said, 
quietly,  leaning  toward  her  across  the  arm  of  my  chair  and 
looking  steadfastly  at  her  face.  "  What  then,  Anna?" 

I  could  not  be  angry  with  her,  wounded,  sore,  and  cut 
to  the  quick  as  I  was;  and,  to  my  own  surprise,  my  voice 
was  tender  instead  of  stern. 

She  started,  and  her  eyes  sought  mine  in  terrified  ques- 
tioning. For  an  instant,  I  think,  she  believed  her  lover 
had  betrayed  her. 

"  What  is  it  you  know?"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice,  and 
growing  paler  and  paler;  but  her  eyes  still  looking  un- 
flinchingly into  mine. 

"  I  came  beneath  your  window  last  night  to  serenade 
you,  and  heard  you  speaking  in  Hindustani  to  some  one 
who  shared  your  room — speaking  as  I  would  give  heaven 
and  earth,  Anna,  for  you  to  speak  to  me.  Tell  me  it  is 
not  true.  Tell  me  it  was  not  your  voice,  that  I  was  mad 
or  dreaming — anything — and  I  will  believe  you." 

I  stretched  out  my  hands  to  her.  The  terrible  emotion 
I  was  repressing  flowed  into  my  voice  and  broke  and 
choked  it. 

Anna  looked  at  me  for  one  instant  and  then  burst  into  a 
passion  of  tears  and  flung  herself  on  her  knees  on  the  floor 
at  my  feet,  laying  both  hands  on  my  knees  and  looking  up 
at  me  through  her  streaming  tears. 


92  ANNA    LOMBARD. 

"  I  can't  tell  you  that.  It  was  my  voice.  It  is  true. 
It  became  so  while  you  were  away  in  Burmah;  but  all  the 
same,  I  love  you,  Gerald,  as  I  do  no  other  human  being,  as 
I  never  can  love  any  one  else.  That  is  why  I  have  not 
broken  our  engagement  sooner.  I  could  not  give  you  up. 
The  other  is  passion,  madness,  anything  you  like,  but  not 
love.  I  love  you  with  all  my  soul  and  heart  and  brain;  all 
those  are  yours  forever  and  ever." 

"  They  are  hardly  enough  for  mo,"  I  said,  bitterly.  "  I 
am  not  ethereal  enough  for  those  to  entirely  content  me." 

"  Well,  why  did  you  not  take  me  before  you  went  to 
Burmah?"  she  exclaimed,  passionately.  "  I  was  innocent 
then  and  willing  to  become  all  your  own.  I  loved  you  the 
first  night  I  saw  you.  I  told  you  so  by  my  eyes  and  smiles 
as  far  as  I  could.  If  you  had  spoken  then  I  would  have 
followed  you  to  Burmah,  or  to  Hades  if  you  wished,  or  I 
would  have  waited  here  for  you  five  years  or  ten  or  an 
eternity.  But  you  did  not.  You  left  me  without  a  word 
to  tell  me  you  loved  me,  and  all  the  presumption  I  could 
make  was  the  other  way.  You  were  a  man.  You  had  the 
right  and  freedom  to  speak  if  you  chose.  You  did  not 
choose.  That  was  all  I  could  conclude." 

"  I  wrote  to  you,"  I  murmured. 

The  sickening  self-reproach  that  swept  over  me,  the 
sense  that  all  had  been  in  my  hands  and  that  I  had  myself 
cast  it  away,  to  be  irrevocably  lost  to  me,  seemed  to  be 
stifling  and  strangling  me. 

"  Wrote  to  me!"  returned  Anna.  "  Yes,  and  your  very 
letters  that  came,  full  of  everything  but  love,  seemed  to 
me  confirmation  of  what  I  thought.  What  was  in  them? 
Admiration,  understanding,  intellectual  communion,  and 
sympathy  with  me.  That  was  all.  You  never  sought  my 
passion  or  my  love.  What  you  sought,  I  gave  you.  Could 
I  do  any  more?" 

I  was  silent.  Words  seemed  useless,  inadequate.  She 
was  still  on  her  knees  before  me,  and  the  touch  of  her 
hands  seemed  to  burn  into  my  flesh. 

"  For  months  after  you  left,  I  lived  here  a  tranquil, 
empty  existence.  You  know  how  empty  this  frivolous  idle 
life  is;  how  there  seems  no  depth,  no  intellectuality,  no 
sympathy  anywhere.  There  seems  nothing  in  if.  No 
emotion,  nothing  to  stir  one.  Well,  then,  suddenly,  this 
great  passion  came  across  my  life.  It  was  like  the  sirocco 


ANNA    LOMBARD.  93 

entering  a  rose-garden.  Perhaps  the  roses,  tired  of  eternal 
silence  and  dew,  like  to  feel  its  scorching  breath,  even 
though  it  withers  and  kills  them.  So  the  sirocco  swept 
over  me,  and  I  bent  to  it  and  accepted  it  because  it  had 
something  of  life  in  it,  something  of  the  joy  of  living,  and 
I  married  this  man — unknown  to  any  one,  of  course." 

<4  Married  him?"  I  echoed,  lifting  my  heavy  eyes  and 
staring  fixedly  at  her. 

"  Yes,"  returned  Anna,  looking  at  me  half-angrily  now 
in  her  turn.  "  What  else?  I  thought  you  understood. 
Didn't  you  say  just  now  you  heard  us  together  last  night 
in  my  room?" 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  hardly  audibly,  "  I  knew  that." 

I  leaned  back  in  my  chair  and  closed  my  eyes.  I  was 
overwhelmed.  Thought  even  seemed  dead  within  me. 
Anna  drew  nearer  to  me  and  put  one  arm  round  my  neck, 
and  I  felt  her  stoop  and  kiss  me  on  the  lips  with  her  teais 
falling  on  my  face. 

"  Gerald,  don't  look  so  ill  and  so  wretched.  I  love  you 
— you  know  I  do — better  than  any  one  else  in  the  world. 
You  have  always  been  so  kind  to  me,  and  I  love  your  beau- 
tiful face  and  thnse  beautiful  eyebrows.  Oh,  why  did  you 
not  take  me  to  Burmah  with  you?  I  should  have  been  so 
happy!" 

*'  i)o  you  mean  that  you  are  in  love  with  two  men  at  the 
same  time?"  1  asked,  opening  my  eyes  and  looking  at  her. 
They  seemed  darkened,  and  I  could  hardly  see  her. 

**  I  suppose  it  must  be  so,  unless  you  recognize  that 
what  I  feel  for  him  is  only  passion,  not  love — not  love  at 
all.  I  would  not  breathe  its  name  with  that  of  love." 

"  Passion  without  love,  Anna;  even  men  are  ashamed 
when  they  feel  that." 

Her  head  drooped  a  little  and  she  colored.  Then  she 
looked  up  again  as  before. 

"  I  feel  it  too  like  that,"  she  murmured,  "  but  it  has 
come  so.  It  is  not  my  fault.  When  I  first  loved  him  I 
shut  my  eyes  to  all  his  faults.  I  invested  him  with  heaps 
of  qualities  I  love,  and  I  could  have  worshiped  him,  been 
devoted  to  him,  if  he  had  let  me.  But  his  character  in 
many  ways  I  loathe.  He  is  hard  and  mean  and  cruel,  and 
when  he  shows  me  these  things,  I  feel  I  hate  him;  yet  I  can 
not  tear  myself  away  from  him.  His  lips  lie  to  me  all 
day,  and  I  know  it,  and  I  could  strike  them;  yet,  when 


94  ANNA    LOMBARD. 

they  come  to  kiss  me,  I  am  only  too  glad  to  submit.  It  is 
horrible  to  feel  in  that  way,  to  feel  your  soul  and  body 
fighting  together  and  your  body  forcing  your  soul  to  sub- 
mission. Oh,  you  don't  know  what  it  is  to  lie  prisoned  in 
arms  that  you  love  and  whose  touch  delights  you,  to  lean 
your  head  upon  a  breast  that  is  heaven  to  you,  and  yet  to 
know  that  the  heart  beneath  is  mean  and  narrow  and  full 
of  cruelty  and  treachery!  To  loathe,  to  feel  an  unutter- 
able contempt,  to  feel  your  own  mind  struggling  to  get 
away  from  those  arms,  and  to  feel  your  own  limbs  and 
body  turn  and  throw  you  back  irresistibly  into  their  em- 
brace! That  is  my  life  now,  one  horrible  imprisonment 
and  degradation,  in  which  I  keep  longing  for  you,  striving 
to  get  out  of  it  and  come  to  you,  only,  I — can't — somehow 
— give — him — up. " 

She  dropped  her  head  upon  my  shoulder  as  if  utterly  ex- 
hausted, and  I  sat  speechless  still.  Her  words — what  a  view 
they  showed  me!  What  a  terrible  vista  they  opened  before 
me!  And  was  I  not  partly  responsible?  Had  I  not 
helped,  by  awakening  her  dawning  emotions  and  then  leav- 
ing them  unsatisfied,  to  precipitate  her  into  this? 

There  was  a  long,  unbroken  silence. 

"  Who  is  this  man?"  I  asked,  at  length.     "  A  native?" 

"Yes." 

"  What  is  his  name?" 

"GaidaKhan." 

Just  as  she  pronounced  the  name,  I  heard  a  faint  sound 
at  the  side  of  the  room,  the  familiar  click  of  the  glass 
beads  on  the  swaying  chick;  and,  turning  my  head,  I  re- 
ceived the  impression  of  a  figure  just  withdrawn.  The 
chick  was  still  swaying. 

Anna  looked  at  me  and  read  my  thoughts. 

"  It  doesn't  matter  if  he  does  see  us  together.  He 
knows  that  I  am  openly  engaged  to  you.  What  do  these 
blacks  not  know?  It  is  useless  to  try  to  keep  anything 
from  them.  He  recognizes  your  position  and  my  love  for 
you.  I  know  when  you  first  came  back  I  ought  to  have 
told  you  all  this;  that  I  had  married  in  your  absence,  and 
I  know  I  could  have  trusted  you  with  my  secret;  but,  oh, 
the  delight  it  was  to  see  you  again,  to  hear  you  say  that 
you  loved  me,  the  rapture  it  is  to  be  with  you,  to  feel  you 
kiss  me!  I  could  not  forego  it.  Gerald,  you  only  half- 


ANNA    LOMBAKD.  95 

realize  what  love  I  have  for  you.  Do  you  remember  what 
I  said  the  night  before  last?" 

H3r  soft  face,  glowing  now  with  a  hot  color,  was  close 
to  mine,  her  eyes  looked  appealingly  into  mine.  The  clear- 
est truth  shone  in  them.  I  knew,  I  felt  that,  as  always, 
she  was  speaking  the  simplest,  barest  truth  to  me;  how- 
ever strange,  horrible,  or  criminal  it  was,  still  it  was  the 
truth.  There  was  no  artifice,  no  talking  for  effect,  no 
making  of  a  tragical  scene  with  me.  Truth,  perfect  truth, 
came  from  her  lips,  I  knew;  and  to  the  saddest,  most 
wounded  heart,  what  comfort  is  there  in  that  knowledge! 

I  put  my  arms  closely  round  her  yielding  shoulders, 
looked  down  into  those  wells  of  blue  fire,  as  her  eyes 
seemed  in  their  passion  to  become. 

"  I  do,  indeed,  remember,"  I  said,  in  a  strained  voice. 
"  But  how  can  it  be?  You  love  me  and  him  at  the  same 
time.  I  can  not  understand  it;  it  does  not  seem  possible. 
I  never  heard — never  could  have  conceived  it — can  not 
now." 

She  looked  at  me  in  silence  for  a  moment,  biting  her 
lips  violently  as  if  unable  to  find  words  to  explain.  Then, 
suddenly,  they  came  to  her  wildly,  impetuously,  and  she 
spoke  so  fast  I  could  hardly  follow  her. 

"  They  are  different  kinds  of  love.  I  admire  you,  wor- 
ship you,  love  you  with  a  love  that  makes  it  ecstasy  to  be 
with  you,  to  hear  your  voice,  to  feel  the  touch  of  your 
hand.  You  are  the  light  of  existence  to  me;  I  can  not 
bear  to  be  separated  from  you.  With  Gaida  it  is  different. 
He  is  a  beautiful  toy  to  me.  He  is  like  some  pet,  some 
lovely  Persian  kitten.  Can't  you  imagine  that?  He  is  a 
possession  that  I  value.  I  like  to  know  he  belongs  to  me; 
I  like  to  feel  I  have  the  right  to  clasp  my  hands  round  his 
wonderful  neck  when  and  if  I  wish;  but  I  do  not  care  to 
be  with  him.  I  do  not  crave  for  his  presence,  as  1  do  for 
yours.  I  do  not  feel  ecstasy  at  his  proximity.  I  care  lit- 
tle for  his  society.  As  you  know,  my  time  has  been  passed 
with  you.  I  see  little  of  Gaida.  I  want  to  see  little  of 
him.  What  link  can  there  be  between  his  brain  and  mine? 
You  understand,  Gerald,  he  was  first  my  servant,  as  far  as 
a  man  of  the  hill  tribes  is  ever  any  one's  servant,  and  I 
was  content  to  keep  him  as  that;  but  he — he — oh!  his  pas- 
sion was  something  terrible — resistless.  He  would  go,  or 
he  would  possess  me.  He  would  not  stay  in  the  house 


96  ANNA    LOMBARD. 

otherwise.  And  so,  to  keep  him,  I  yielded  to  the  idea  of 
marriage  with  him,  thinking  you  had  passed  out  of  my  life. 
Now,  if  I  could  turn  him  into  stone  and  marble  and  so  al- 
ways possess  him,  I  would  be  willing  to,  I  swear.  Now 
you  can  see — can  you  not? — how  it  all  is.  Suppose  " — she 
added,  swiftly — "  I  had  a  tame  leopard  or  panther  that  I 
loved,  even  a  dog,  say — oh,  you  don't  know  how  passion- 
ately I  love  anything  that  I  love  at  all — yet  you  would  not 
dream  of  objecting  to  that,  and  Gaida  is  little  more  to 
me." 

"Oh,  but  it  is  different,  Anna,  totally,"  I  murmured. 
"  This  man  is  your  lover — your  husband." 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  in  a  lower  voice,  and  one  tense  with 
feeling,  "  I  am  married  to  Gaida,  and  for  that  mere  reason 
I  love  him,  I  cling  to  him,  I  know.  My  feelings  cling 
round  him  simply  because  of  that,  and  in  that  one  way  he 
has  a  stronger  hold  on  me  than  you.  Oh,  Gerald,  take 
me  too  in  that  way!  Let  us  marry;  then  nothing  could 
touch  or  break  the  love  I  have  for  you." 

A  throb  of  unspeakable  joy  went  through  me.  I 
strained  her  to  me,  and  pressed  my  lips  on  hers  suddenly. 

"  You  will  give  him  up,"  I  said  in  her  ear,  in  a  low 
voice,  suffocated  with  hope  and  joy= 

Anna  gave  a  sob  which  seemed  to  break  the  slight,  love- 
ly figure  in  my  arms. 

"  Oh,  don't  ask  me!  It  would  be  like  cutting  my  heart 
from  me.  Let  me  keep  him  too,  for  a  little  while — at 
first." 

A  revulsion  of  feeling,  a  shock  almost  of  loathing  passed 
through  me.  I  pushed  her  from  me  and  sprung  up. 

"  Anna,  I  can  not  believe  it  is  you  who  are  speaking. 
You  must  be  mad  or  I  am.  Englishmen  do  not  share 
their  wives.  It  must  be  at  an  end,  as  you  said." 

And  hardly  knowing  what  I  was  doing,  I  walked  from 
her  to  the  door.  But  Anna  had  risen  and  followed  me, 
and  now  stood  between  me  and  the  cliicks. 

"  Wait!  wait!  give  me  time!  Love  like  ours  can  not 
be  done  with  or  set  aside  in  a  few  words.  I  will  try — 1 
will  try  to  give  him  up.  Let  me  have  time  to  think.  This 
evening  I  will  tell  you.  Do  not  throw  me  aside.  I  can 
not  bear  it."  Her  broken,  passionate  words,  still  more 
the  agonized  look  upon  her  face,  turned  the  terrible  im- 
pulse of  anger  to  an  equally  terrible  grief.  , ..  _ 


AHN"A    LOMBARD.  97 

"  This  evening?  You  will  be  at  the  Delanys'  dance?  I 
will  see  you  there.  Do  not  speak  to  me  any  more  now.  I 
can  not  stand  it." 

Then,  catching  again  her  grief-stricken  and  pathetic 
eyes,  I  drew  her  up  silently  to  my  heart  and  pressed  her 
there.  Taking  up  the  ring  from  the  table,  I  slipped  if; 
over  the  delicate,  white,  trembling  finger. 

"  All  remains  as  it  was  outwardly,"  I  said.  "  What  has 
passed  is  forever  buried  between  ourselves.  I  shall  never 
throw  you  aside,  my  darling.  It  is  for  you  to  decide  if 
you  will  belong  to  me  entirely,  or  only  as  now." 

Then,  before  she  could  answer,  I  passed  through  the 
chicks  and  into  the  hall. 

I  found  my  carriage  waiting  at  the  door,  but  sent  it 
home,  and  left  myself  free  to  find  my  way  back  on  foot. 
I  felt  as  if  the  walking  would  help  my  shattered  thoughts. 
It  was  the  close  of  the  afternoon,  and,  therefore,  the  love- 
liest part  of  the  Indian  day.  I  turned  aside  from  the 
broad,  red  road,  down  which  my  carriage  disappeared,  and 
entered  a  winding  lane  that,  in  spite  of  many  twists  and 
vagaries,  yet  maintained  a  parallel  direction  with  it  and 
would  lead  me  home  in  the  end.  It  was  narrow  and 
grassy,  being  little  trodden  except  by  the  bare  feet  of  the 
natives;  and  the  rose  and  syringa  hedges  came  forward 
from  each  side  at  places  and  entwined  their  leafy  arms 
and  lingered  to  gossip  in  the  middle  of  the  road  undis- 
turbed. Overhead  the  giant  sago-palms  towered  into  the 
blue  sky,  majestic  and  far  away  from  small  and  earthly 
things;  while,  between,  the  cotton-trees  dropped  and 
rustled  their  little  leaves,  and  threw  shade  on  the  mortals 
passing  underneath.  Down  this  silent,  fragrant  alley  I 
walked  slowly,  thinking  of  many  things  and  trying  to 
realize  the  position  I  had  taken  tip.  How  strange  it  all 
was,  I  thought  with  a  bitter  smile;  and  how  the  station 
would  stare  could  they  get  a  glimpse  now  into  the  brain  of 
the  most  envied  man  in  it!  What  was  I,  practically,  I  asked 
myself.  The  fiance  of  a  woman  living  with,  loving,  and 
married  to  another  man.  It  was  ludicrous.  I  laughed 
aloud,  and  my  laugh  startled  a  cushat  on  its  nest  and  a 
green  parrot,  that  flew  screaming  from  the  tall  hedge  above 
me.  I  wondered  if  any  man  had  ever  been  exactly  in  my 
position  before  or  had  listened  to  the  propositions  and 
spent  the  hours  I  had  that  morning;  and,  if  they  had  been, 


98  ANNA    LOMBARD. 

how  they  had  acted;  and  what  the  whole  set  of  young  offi- 
cers and  civilians  in  the  station,  to  whom  by  rank  and  age 
I  belonged,  and  yet  from  whom  in  thought  and  feeling  I 
so  widely  differed,  would  say  of  me  and  my  conduct,  if  they 
knew  all.  These  thoughts  flashed  through  my  brain,  and 
then  I  dismissed  them  with  a  contemptuous  smile.  What 
was  the  world  or  its  opinions  or  judgment  to  me?  I  was, 
of  the  world  in  the  sense  that  I  lived  in  it,  worked  in  it, 
entertained  and  drank  wine  in  it,  with  the  rest;  but  mj 
mind  was  not  modeled  after  its  patterns. 

At  the  tutor's,  where,  with  six  other  students,  I  had 
read  for  the  service,  I  was  nicknamed  "  the  Philosopher  " 
and  "  the  Athenian/'  because  the  problems  of  life  and1 
death  interested  me  more  than  geometry;  and  I  had  been 
detected  more  than  once  reading  Plato's  "  Euthydemus  " 
and  "  Phredrus  "  out  of  studying  hours.  That,  indeed, 
which  had  put  me  into  the  first  place  in  the  examination, 
as  shown  by  the  marks'  list,  was  the  extraordinary  supe- 
riority over  all  other  candidates  in  Greek;  and  this  was  not 
acquired  in  laborious  construing  under  a  tutor's  fostering 
care,  but  in  long,  silent,  lonely  nights  of  intense  excite- 
ment, when  I  had  sat  reading  the  dead  tongue  for  pleas- 
ure, and  seeming  to  grasp  the  very  hand  of  the  dead 
philosopher  across  the  gulf  of  centuries  of  modern 
thought  and  learning;  so  that,  probably,  I  looked  at  the 
whole  matter  with  different  eyes  from  the  average  young 
Englishman.  But  in  the  emotions  we  are  all  more  nearly 
on  a  level,  and  that  which  I  felt  most  keenly  as  I  walked 
quietly  on  was  pain — hot  rushes  of  pain — in  which  my 
heart  seemed  burning  to  a  cinder,  succeeded  by  a  cold, 
sick  hopelessness  and  despair.  But  I  did  not  regret  what 
I  had  said  or  done  in  the  moments  of  clear  reason  between 
those  of  resentful  agony.  I  realized  that  nothing  could 
have  been  gained  by  thrusting  her  from  me  and  regaining 
my  freedom. 

Freedom!  What  a  mockery  the  mere  word  was,  when 
her  presence  and  her  smile  still  meant  for  me  all  that  was 
most  precious  in  lifc.  And  if,  in  time,  I  had  learned  to 
put  away  the  thought  of  her,  what  then?  Was  there  anr 
other  woman  here  or  elsewhere  in  the  world  that  could,  1 
will  not  say  equal  her  but,  be  to  me  what  she  was?  Where 
else  could  I  find  that  exquisite  sensibility,  that  quick  re- 
sponse to  every  thought  and  feeling,  that  intellectuality 


ANNA    LOMBARD.  99 

and  brilliance  that  had  not  made  her  hard,  but  had  linked 
itself  to  the  softest  and  tenderest  heart,  and  the  most 
caressing,  yielding  ways?  Above  all,  that  capacity  for  pas- 
sion— I  do  not  mean  only  physical,  but  mental  passion — 
and  all  forms  of  intense  feeling  that  showed  in  her  shining 
eyes  and  swift,  supple  movements. 

She  appealed  to  me,  spoke  to  all  the  impulses  and  moods 
within  me  in  a  hundred  voices.  It  was  as  if  the  spirit  of 
the  Greek  Agathon  had  come  back  to  earth  in  another 
form;  and,  like  Plato,  I  too  seemed  to  feel  my  soul  slip- 
ping through  my  lips  and  being  drunk  in  by  hers  when  I 
kissed  her.  Psychology  had  always  been  my  favorite 
study  and  humanity  my  favorite  book,  and  here,  in  Anna, 
I  had  come  upon  a  curious  yet  lovely  page.  Even  if  I  had 
not  loved  her,  I  should  have  been  fascinated  by  that  page 
and  kept  my  eyes  upon  it,  until  I  understood  it  and  could 
translate,  it  clearly. 

No,  it  was  better  as  it  was.  Better  to  have  the  nominal 
right  I  had.  Better  this  possession  by  her  promise  and  in 
public  opinion,  than  none.  Besides,  had  I  not  much 
more?  I  knew,  even  without  that  confession  of  hers  this 
morning,  that  I  was  possessed  of  her  soul  and  heart  and 
brain.  All,  all,  in  fact,  except — and  here  the  fierce  pain 
broke  out  in  me  again;  pain  and  anger  and  fury  rising  up 
and  obscuring  my  mental  vision  like  smoke  before  the  eyes. 
But  I  crushed  them  under,  and  my  thoughts  fought  their 
way  painfully  but  steadily  through  the  brain.  I  saw  that 
of  whatever  length  the  interim  of  suffering  would  be,  be- 
yond it  there  was  hope.  Physical  passion,  when  it  is  real 
and  genuine,  especially  when,  from  opposing  circum- 
stances, it  can  not  reach  satiety,  is  hard  to  kill  and  long  in 
dying.  Still,  it  wears  thin  under  the  continual  battling 
and  striving  of  the  imprisoned  soul  against  it  As  the  un- 
worthy object  keeps  revealing  more  and  mere  traits  that 
shock  and  repulse  its  lover,  so  the  force  of  contempt  and 
loathing  grows  in  the  lover's  struggling  soul ;  grows  until 
at  last  it  is  strong  enough  to  vanquish  the  clingii  g  senses. 
For  no  new  beauties  of  body  or  charm  of  passion  have  been 
reinforcing  them.  They  are  bound  by  the  same  ties  as  at 
the  beginning,  while  the  soul's  loathing,  that  it  brings  down 
upon  those  ties,  has  increased  a  thousandfold.  Then  is  the 
moment  when  they  break  and  the  lover  stands  free.  Such 
a  moment  must  come  to  Anna,  Well,  I  would  wait  for  itj 


100  ANNA    LOMBARD. 

I  saw  that  without  external  aid  of  circumstances,  a  bondage 
of  soul,  such  as  hers  by  the  senses,  could  not  last. 

As  she  had  said,  Gaida  was  tearing  huge  rents  in  the 
mantle  of  passion  she  had  thrown  over  him,  and  soon  it 
would  fall  in  mere  remnants  from  him. 

Besides,  that  was  the  farthest  termination.  A  hundred 
accidents  might  give  her  to  me  any  day,  any  hour.  With 
all  my  help  and  care  and  protection — for  she  should  have 
them  all — the  slender  foundation  on  which  she  had  built 
her  happiness  might  be  swept  away.  How  insecure  the 
whole  fabric  was!  How  unlikely  that  secrecy  could  be 
long  be  preserved!  And  one  breath  of  scandal  would  blow 
it  down.  I  would  not  hasten  that  hour  of  grief  for  her,  if 
I  could,  by  a  raising  of  the  eyebrow. 

I  could  work  without  her  knowledge  against  this  man  if 
I  chose;  have  him  killed  or  imprisoned,  as  far  as  that  went, 
and  Anna  need  never  know.  But  she  trusted  me  entirely. 
[  held  her  in  my  hand  as  one  can  hold  a  little  hedge-spar- 
row, and  she  knew  it  and  did  not  even  flutter  in  my  clasp. 
She  felt  safe  there,  and  she  was.  My  conquest  would  be 
accomplished  in  other  ways.  My  plan  of  action  was  clear 
before  me  as  a  general's  when  he  takes  the  field.  I  would 
protect  them  and  their  secret  as  long  as  it  was  possible,  and 
if  the  storm  broke  upon  them,  I  would  acknowledge  their 
marriage  and  receive  them  into  my  own  house.  What  I 
did,  the  station  would  do.  Was  I  not  the  station,  in  fact? 
And  I  smiled  in  contempt  at  the  thought  of  the  men  and 
women  who  flocked  to  my  house  because  I  fed  and  wined 
them  well;  and  who,  for  the  sake  of  that  food  and  wine, 
would  condone  anything  I  did. 

Yes,  Anna  should  have  from  me  nothing  but  protection, 
consolation,  comfort,  love.  She  should  find  that  one  other 
besides  herself  knew  how  to  love,  whatever  my  pain  and 
suffering  and  ultimate  reward.  Whatever  I  might  be  to 
others,  she  at  least  should  never  turn  to  me  in  vain.  I 
would  crush  myself  into  nothing  and  she  should  be  all.  I 
would,  if  called  upon,  give  everything  and  receive  noth- 
ing. 

I  came  to  this  conclusion  slowly  and  by  careful  thought. 
Then  I  registered  the  resolution  within  myself  and  steeled 
myself  to  the  endurance  of  all  it  might  mean.  Yet  I  had 
my  consolation;  it  was  the  knowledge  she  was  worth  it — 
by  character,  by  intellect,  by  grace,  by  charm,  by  every- 


ANNA    LOMBARD.  101 

thing  that  makes  a  human  being  of  worth  in  this  world, 
she  was  worth  it.  And  she  could  do  what  so  few  other 
men  and  women  can — she  could  understand  and  appre- 
ciate. I  knew  that  not  one  pang  of  mine,  not  the  smallest 
sacrifice,  would  pass  unnoticed  and  unweighed,  or  fail  to 
bring  me  more  than  five  times  its  value  in  gratitude  and 
love.  What  hardship  is  there  is  serving  such  a  mistress? 
To  me  none.  There  are  instances  recorded — or  at  least 
supposed  to  exist — where  men  have  poured  out  a  life-long 
devotion  at  the  feet  of  some  senseless  idol  that  cared  little 
for  them,  nothing  for  their  suffering,  and  laughed  at  their 
love.  Such  self-abnegation  seems  to  me  degradation,  and 
can  only  exist  where  the  worshiper  is  as  worthless  as  the 
idol.  But  for  Anna  I  would  have  given  up  my  life  as 
cheerfully  as  men  in  all  ages  have  died  for  their  gods,  while 
and  because  they  believed  in  them.  When  they  ceased  to 
believe,  they  ceased  to  die. 

When  I  reached  my  bungalow,  I  went  into  the  library, 
threw  myself  on  the  couch,  and  closed  my  eyes.  I  felt 
sleep  would  come  to  me  now,  and  I  gave  myself  over  to  it. 
Until  my  interview  with  Anna  I  had  felt  restless,  eager,  ex- 
cited, a  prey  to  a  stormy  rage  of  anger;  yet  full,  uncon- 
sciously, of  an  expectation  that  there  would  be  some  ex- 
planation of  it  all;  that  Anna,  in  a  few  clear  words,  would 
dispel  the  whole  horrible  nightmare,  as  it  almost  seemed 
to  be;  and  that  I  should  return  from  her  presence,  calm, 
soothed,  full  of  joy,  as  I  had  so  often  been  before. 

But  now,  now  that  everything  was  settled  and  there  was 
nothing  to  do  but  face  the  blank  loss  and  sorrow  I  had 
had,  I  felt  no  more  unrest,  no  excitement,  only  exhaustion 
and  longing  for  oblivion.  The  heavy  air  pressed  on  my 
eyelids,  and  in  a  few  moments  I  passed  into  the  blank 
darkness  of  sleep. 

When  I  awoke  it  must  have  been  some  hours  later.  It 
had  grown  dark  outside,  and  inside  the  assiduous  butler 
had  lighted  up  all  the  lamps  and  left  the  cliick  invitingly 
parted  so  that  I  could  see  the  table  laid  for  my  dinner  in 
the  dining-room  beyond.  I  stretched  myself  as  I  lay  on 
the  broad  couch  and  threw  my  e^es  round  the  room,  and 
they  rested  on  the  little  book-case  at  my  feet,  in  which  I 
kept  different  volumes  in  the  various  languages  and  dia- 
lects of  the  East.  The  most  prominent  among  them,  and 
the  one  which  pressed  its  title  in  Gujerati  to  the  glass,  wag 


102  ANNA    LOMBARD. 

the  "  History  of  Draupadi,"  and  I  read  it  over  and  over  in 
the  curious  characters,  and  it  seemed  to  have  a  peculiar 
bearing  on  my  own  frame  of  thought.  Draupadi  is  one  of 
the  dearest  Hindu  ideals.  She  is  the  feminine  character 
in  their  literature  round  which  clings,  perhaps,  the  most 
sacred  reverence.  She  is  the  type  of  pure,  trustful  wom- 
anhood and  faithful  wifehood  answering  to  the  Greek  con- 
ception and  British  acceptance  of  Penelope. 

As  it  is  represented  in  India,  the  legend  of  Draupadi  is  a 
singularly  beautiful  one.  Yet  the  principle  of  it  is  the 
subdivision  of  a  woman's  love.  It  portrays  the  woman  in 
the  dawn  of  life,  consecrated,  not  to  one  husband,  but  to 
fire.  To  each  of  the  five  brothers  who  wed  her  simul- 
taneously, and  who  share  her  among  them,  as  they  share 
their  common  tent,  Draupadi  is  a  faithful  and  devoted 
wife,  and  eventually  bears  a  son  to  each.  Her  counsels 
guide  them,  her  love  and  fidelity  save  them  from  surround- 
ing dangers,  and  they  unite  at  all  times  to  protect  and  de- 
fend the  chastity  of  the  woman  they  revere  and  cherish. 

Strange  and — to  Englishmen — perverted  idea;  yet  thou- 
sands of  cultivated  and  enlightened  individuals  through 
many  ages  have  been  able  to  comprehend  it  and  to  asso- 
ciate it  with  an  ideal  of  purity.  And  was  I  wholly  justi- 
fied in  the  revolt  and  loathing  1  had  felt  of  Anna  when  she 
made  her  final  suggestion  to  me  this  afternoon? 

This  query  flashed  upon  me  suddenly  as  I  lay  there,  as  if 
a  sudden  flash  of  lightning  had  revealed  a  before-unob- 
served picture  on  the  wall  opposite  me.  But  could  I 
marry  her  and  share  her  with  another?  I  could  not,  I 
knew  I  could  not.  The  blood  rushed  to  my  brain.  I 
clinched  my  hands  and  pressed  them  to  my  head,  vainly 
striving  to  shut  out  the  thoughts  that  came  and  seemed  to 
madden  me.  Yet  there  came  almost  immediately  the  in- 
sidious idea  creeping  upon  me  that  had  been  suggested  and 
had  underlain  her  own  words  to  me.  As  things  stood,  he 
was  in  the  superior,  I  in  the  inferior  position.  He  was,  so 
to  speak,  the  master  of  the  house,  and  I  but  a  poor  beggar 
before  the  door.  He  was  received  within  the  citadel,  I 
was  but  sitting  down  before  it  Naturally,  the  victory  was 
with  him.  But  let  us  both  be  within  that  house  or  citadel, 
and  which  then  would  have  the  power  to  throw  the  other 
out?  She  loved  me  as  passionately  as  she  did  him,  and 
mentally  far  more;  but  this  last  advantage  on  my  side  was 


ANNA    LOMBARD.  103 

overwhelmed  by  his  superior  position.     But  let  the  posi- 
tions be  equal,  and  all  the  advantage  would  be  with  me. 

I  sprung  from  the  couch  and  paced  the  room,  a  terrible 
delirium  in  my  brain  in  which  rational  thought  was  hardly 
possible.  The  shock  and  horror  of  the  first  discovery  that 
she  loved  another,  as  I  supposed,  instead  of,  or  better 
than,  myself;  had  been  followed  by  the  hardly  lesser  one 
of  hearing  it  was  not  instead  of,  or  better  than,  but  as  well  ' 
as,  and  in  addition  to,  myself;  and  then  all  had  culminated 
in  that  suggestion  of  an  equal  partnership  in  love  that 
seemed  so  revolting,  so  terrible,  and  yet  whispered  to  the 
simply  passionate  part  of  my  love  with  a  secret  and  poison- 
ous allurement.  After  all,  for  how  short  a  time  it  would 
be.  Could  I  not,  loving  her  as  I  did,  turn  that  heart  of 
hers,  so  full  of  love  for  me  already,  to  myself,  and  fill  it  so 
entirely  there  would  be  no  room  for  any  other  there? 

What  was  this  love  of  hers  for  Gaida?  Was  it  not  a 
mere  morbid  growth  that  had  sprung  up  in  my  absence,  a 
result  partly  of  the  awakened  and  ungratified  impulses  of 
that  love  I  had  stirred;  and  would  it  not  be  steadily  pushed 
aside  as  the  real  love  strengthened  and  developed?  But 
no,  no;  I  could  not  enter  into  such  a  horrible,  disgraceful 
compact  with  her,  whatever  its  grounds  might  be  and  its 
possible  results  and  reward.  I  would  not  and  could  not 
desecrate  this  feeling  I  had  for  her,  which  was  something 
infinitely  higher  than  a  mere  love  through  the  senses; 
would  not  and  could  not  use  it  as  the  means  to  an  end, 
however  worthy  the  end  might  seem.  Where  would  my 
own  self-respect  be?  It  must  be  sacrificed,  and  with  it 
also  hers;  and  with  the  sense  of  honor  lost  between  us,  our 
love,  instead  of  being,  as  it  now  was,  something  infinitely 
tender  and  holy,  might  insensibly  degenerate  into  the  same 
mere  love  of  pleasure  and  self-gratification  that  bound  her 
and  Gaida  together.  No,  I  would  fight  the  battle  and 
take  my  chances  of  victory  from  the  ground  where  I  stood. 
The  contest  should  be  won  by  the  perpetual  contrast  ol 
one  love  with  the  other,  and  there  should  be  no  moral 
compulsion,  no  coercion,  not  even  that  coercion  of  the 
sentiments  that  intimacy  produces  and  that  Gaida  was 
swaying  her  with  now.  I  would  wait  for  that  hour  when 
she  would,  of  her  own  accord,  turn  to  me  as  her  protector 
and  deliverer,  her  asylum  and  her  hope. 

All  that  I  could  do  by  patience  and  the  extreme  of  fidel- 


104  ANK  A    LOMBARD. 

ity  and  tenderness  should  be  done,  bat  I  would  not  buy  in- 
fluence  over  her  senses  by  degrading  my  love  to  the  level 
of  my  rival's.  I  might  have  done  it  with  a  woman  I  loved 
less  than  Anna;  but,  rightly  or  wrongly,  reasonably  01 
otherwise,  Anna  had  roused  and  held  all  the  very  best  and 
the  most  selfless  emotions  that  I  was  capable  of.  My  eye 
could  not  light  on  that  delicate,  beautifully  balanced  form, 
or  meet  those  soft,  ardent  eyes,  without  a  rush  of  tender- 
ness and  devotion  filling  me,  different  far  from  what  most 
men  understand  by  love.  And  I  had  seen  her,  met  her, 
been  loved  by  her  in  the  first  fresh,  pure  unfolding  of  her 
heart,  and  I  had  left  her.  And  now  I  had  returned  and 
found  her  enveloped  in  a  horror  and  a  darkness  worse  than 
death. 

I  saw  her,  as  it  were,  standing  smiling  on  a  gulf  of  hid-* 
eous,  unknown  dangers,  and  I  alone  knew  and  saw  and 
could  save  her. 

Could  I  desert  her?  Married  to  a  native!  One  needs  to 
have  lived  in  India  to  fully  understand  the  horror  contained 
in  those  words.  Aside  from  the  moral  degradations  of  life 
shared  with  one  who,  according  to  the  British  standpoint, 
has  no  moral  sense,  of  being  allied  with  a  race  whose  vices 
and  lives  are  beyond  description;  there  is  the  daily,  hourly 
physical  danger  from  a  native's  insensate  jealousy,  unrea- 
soning rage,  and  childish,  yet  fiendish,  revenge. 

A  smile  bestowed  on  another,  one  of  those  hundred  little 
social  amenities  or  functions  fulfilled  by  his  wife,  not  under* 
stood  in  its  right  sense  by  the  unlettered,  unthinking  bar- 
barian; and  a  naked  corpse,  with  breasts  cut  off,  and  muti- 
lated beyond  recognition,  flung  out  upon  the  meidan,  are 
but  likely  cause  and  probable  result. 

Why  had  I  not  taken  her  with  me  to  Burmah?  Oh,  fool 
that  I  had  been,  with  blinded  eyes!  How  much  better  that 
disease  and  death  that  I  had  so  dreaded  for  her  from  the 
Lihuli  swamps,  than  this! 

My  servant  entered  and  stopped,  amazed,  at  the  door,  to 
see  his  sahib  pacing  wildly  backward  and  forward  with 
clinched  hands  and  the  sweat  pouring  unnoticed  from  his 
face.  He  made  a  profound  salaam  as  he  caught  my  wan- 
dering eye. 

"  Will  not  the  sahib  eat?  It  is  hours  past  the  appointed 
time." 

I  wared  him  away  with  impatient  anger.    The  sight  of 


ANNA    LOMBARD.  105 

w  black  face  was  hateful  and  abhorrent  to  me,  at  that  mo- 
ment. 

"  Go,  go!"  I  said,  "  and  see  that  neither  you  nor  any 
one  disturbs  me  till  the  morning.  Clear  the  table.  I  shall 
not  eat  to-night." 

Silent  and  wondering,  the  man  withdrew,  and  I  heard 
him  and  other  servants  clearing  away  the  set-out  but  un- 
touched dinner  in  the  adjoining  room.  Then  they  returned 
to  their  quarters,  and  I  was  left  alone  in  the  silence.  1 
looked  at  my  watch.  It  was  ten.  I  must  dress  and  go  to 
the  dance,  or  I  should  fail  in  my  appointment  with  Anna. 
I  went  upstairs  and  began  my  toilet  with  feverish  haste. 

I  was  fairly  early  at  the  Delanys',  and  Anna  had  not  yet 
arrived.  For  that  matter,  she  generally  did  come  late.  I 
met  a  girl  that  I  had  not  seen  for  some  time,  and  who  had 
aow  become  a  married  woman.  By  her  I  took  my  seat 
where  I  had  the  whole  length  of  the  room  before  me,  and 
I  could  watch  for  Anna's  appearance.  At  a  quarter  to 
twelve  she  entered,  and  I  could  distinguish  her  in  a  mo- 
pient.  What  was  there  that  made  her  figure  so  charming? 
She  was  tall,  but  not  of  that  height  which  makes  a  woman 
formidable  instead  of  caressable.  She  was  only  tall  when 
pou  actually  measured  her.  At  other  times,  the  only  im- 
pression her  figure  gave  was  of  extreme  grace  and  supple- 
ness. Her  waist  was  slim  and  low,  her  shoulders  broad, 
and  hips  slight.  Perhaps  there  was  something  in  this 
proportion  that  gave  the  whole  its  peculiar,  insinuating 
charm. 

She  wore  this  evening  a  gown  of  heavy,  white  silk,  as 
usual,  with  a  train  of  great  length  and  weight;  and  the 
whole  dress  had,  or  was  lent  by  its  wearer,  an  incomparable 
distinction.  As  she  came  nearer  we  could  see  that  she  was 
wearing  at  her  bosom  a  cluster  of  her  favorite  white  roses, 
and  a  small  spray  was  intertwined  with  the  beautiful  double 
plait  of  fair  hair  on  her  neck.  I  watched  her  with  my 
usual  delight,  and  then  as  she  came  closer  I  sprung  to  my 
feet  with  an  almost  uttered  exclamation  of  dismay.  Her 
face  was  terrible  to  look  at.  For  a  minute  I  could  not  be- 
lieve that  this  was  the  rounded,  smiling,  rose-like  face  I 
knew.  It  was  colorless  and  in  some  indescribable  way 
seemed  blighted.  The  eyes  had  a  strained  look  of  intense 
suffering  and  exhaustion,  and  the  pale  lips  had  a  terrible 
line  round  them  I  had  never  seen, 


106  ANNA    LOMBARD. 

Wo  met  and  pressed  each  other's  hands  in  a  conventional 
way,  and  then  Anna  said,  hurriedly: 

"  Let  us  go  outside,  somewhere,  where  we  can  speak  for 
a  few  moments,  and  then  I  am  going  home.  I  can  not 
stay  here." 

We  went  in  silence  toward  the  veranda,  which  led  to  the 
compound  beyond  and  a  wild  jungle  of  ilowers  and  palms, 
where  a  hundred  couples  might  walk  unseen  by  one  an- 
other, and  yet  where  the  music  of  the  ball-room  would 
reach  them  all.  As  we  passed  out  I  heard  one  woman  say 
to  another  by  whom  she  was  sitting: 

"  How  dreadfully  ill  Miss  Lombard  looks  this  evening." 

And  the  other  answered : 

"  Yes;  this  season  is  really  extremely  trying." 

Anna's  lips  curled  in  a  faint  smile;  but  we  neither  of  us 
«spoke  till  we  had  got  far  away  from  the  house,  down  by 
the  end  of  a  tiny  path  that  stepped  by  a  rustic  seat  and 
>pen  summer-house,  surrounded  by  a  perfect  thicket  of 
rhododendrons.  Here  Anna  sat  down  and  I  by  her  side, 
And  the  silence  between  us  seemed  like  some  great,  palpa- 
ble curtain  which  we  were  both  afraid  to  lift.  At  last  I 
Baid,  very  gently — for  her  looks  were  enough  to  move  the 
most  indifferent  to  pity: 

"  You  look  most  unhappy,  Anna.  Speak  to  me  and  let 
me  comfort  you." 

She  turned  her  eyes  upon  me  and  said,  in  a  low  tone: 

"  I  have  suffered  intensely  all  day,  since  you  left  me.  I 
have  fought  with  myself  and  been  defeated.  I  can  not  give 
him  up.  I  feel  now  that  I  must  lose  one  of  you,  and  to 
lose  either  will  kill  me." 

Her  face  was  such  an  unconscious  confirmation  of  her 
words  that  I  could  not  look  upon  them  as  a  mere  hysterical 
expression.  Only  once  have  I  seen  such  a  look  on  a  human 
face,  and  that  was  on  the  face  of  a  woman  suffering  from 
a  terrible  disease,  just  after  she  had  learned  the  truth  and 
three  weeks  before  her  death  from  it.  That  other  horrible 
feminine  face,  with  the  seal  of  death  set  on  it,  rose  suddenly 
before  me  as  Anna  looked  at  me,  and  my  heart  seemed  lit- 
erally wrung  with  fear  and  pain,  as  if  giant  hands  had 
clutched  it  and  twisted  it  to  breaking  point. 

"  If  I  keep  him,"  she  went  on,  quietly,  with  an  accent 
of  desolation  that  was  pitiful,  "  you  will  leave — desert  me 
—and  I  shall  lose  you,3' 


ANNA    LOMBARD.  10? 

That  was  all,  and  again  there  was  a  great  silence.  In  i\ 
I  thought  and  ratified  my  own  decision.  I  am  prepared 
for  all  men  to  condemn  me;  to  say  I  acted  wrongly  and 
weakly;  to  say  I  should  have  risen  and  left  her  there;  to 
say  that  I  had  done  all  that  I  could,  and  that  since  she  had 
decided  upon  her  course,  I  had  nothing  to  do  but  to  accept 
that  decision  and  leave  her  to  follow  the  fate  she  had  de- 
cided upon.  Perhaps  I  was  weak.  Perhaps,  if  we  look 
closely,  we  should  see  that  all  unselfishness  is  a  form  of 
weakness.  Be  that  as  it  may,  I  saw  that  she  was  suffer- 
ing, I  loved  her,  and  I  could  alleviate  her  suffering  bj 
speaking,  and  I  spoke. 

"  No,  Anna,  I  will  not  desert  you.  If  you  can  not  breat 
with  this  man  now,  I  will  wait.  I  foresee  that  the  day 
will  come  when  you  will  long  to  break  this  tie  and  will  call 
upon  me  to  help  you.  Till  that  day  comes  I  am  your  pro- 
tector  and  your  friend." 

I  put  my  arms  round  her  and  her  head  fell  upon  mj 
breast  with  a  long-suppressed,  terrible  sob  of  pain;  and  W6 
sat  on,  motionless  and  in  silence.  From  the  gay,  brilliant 
windows  of  the  Delanys'  bungalow  the  music  streamed  oul 
to  us,  and  we  heard  occasionally  on  the  other  side  of  tht 
rhododendrons  a  laugh  or  a  whisper  as  steps  went  by,  with 
the  trailing  swish  of  a  ball-gown  on  the  grass. 

Light  feet,  light  hearts,  light  love,  light  flirtations  were? 
passing  gayly  on  the  other  side  of  that  crimson  hedge,  and 
we  sat  there  drenched  in  an  agony  too  great  for  words. 
Deep  emotions,  great  passions  are  out  of  place  in  this  little 
world  of  ours.  They  are  but  for  the  immortal  gods,  who 
possess  all  eternity  in  which  to  suffer  and  recover  from 
them.  Conventionality!  How  calm,  how  comfortable, 
how  suitable  it  is  to  our  little,  limited  lives!  How  it  might 
be  said  of  that,  rather  than  of  wisdom: 

"  Her  ways  are  ways  of  pleasantness, 
And  all  her  paths  are  peace." 

Time  passed.  Dance  after  dance  was  played  and  fin- 
ished, and  at  last  Anna  raised  her  head. 

"  Take  me  home,  Gerald.  To-morrow  come  and  see 
Gaida.  It  is  justice  to  me  that  you  should  see  him.  I  will 
be  in  the  drawing-room  at  two  exactly.  Come  to  me 
there," 


108  ANNA    LOMBARD. 

We  rose,  and  to  avoid  passing  through  the  crowd,  I  led 
her  to  an  open  lawn  that  impinged  upon  the  road  where 
all  the  carriages  were  drawn  up  waiting.  I  went  among 
them  and  found  hers,  and  then  brought  her  to  it  and  put 
her  in  and  gave  her  my  promise  I  would  see  her  at  the  hour 
she  wished  the  next  day.  As  I  put  my  hand  for  a  moment 
on  the  door,  she  drew  it  within  the  carriage  and  kissed  it. 
Then  the  carriage  drove  onward  and  I  went  to  seek  my 
own.  I  could  not  face  a  return  to  the  idle,  callous,  light- 
hearted  crowd  within  and  hear  comments  on  Anna's  illness 
and  change  of  looks.  I  drove  away  and  reached,  thank- 
fully, the  lonely  darkness  of  my  own  house. 

The  following  morning,  after  a  sleepless  night,  I  rose 
early  and  went  early  to  my  work  that  I  might  be  free  by 
two,  and  at  a  few  minutes  before  the  hour  I  had  reached 
the  bungalow  and  was  in  her  drawing-room. 

She  met  me  at  the  entrance  to  the  room  and  herself  drew 
aside  the  chicks  to  admit  me.  She  was  deadly  pale  to  her 
very  lips.  She  seemed  intensely  excited,  and  I  did  not  feel 
surprised  that  she  should  be  so.  Coming  to  receive  two 
lovers,  both  of  whom  I  knew  she  loved,  and  to  show  one  to 
the  other!  As  for  me,  I  felt  in  a  dream.  All  seemed  un' 
real  to  me.  Were  we  really  two  ordinary,  flesh-and-blood 
British  mortals?  Was  this  ordinary  life,  or  wore  we  shades 
acting  in  some  grotesque  farce?  She  motioned  me  to  a 
chair,  far  removed  from  her  and  in  the  darkest  shade  of 
the  shaded  room.  I  sunk  into  it  mechanically.  The  chair 
seemed  real  and  ordinary  enough,  and  there  were  other 
chairs  and  tables  and  ordinary  things  round  me  in  this  or- 
dinary room,  where  Anna  was  wont  to  laugh  and  talk  so- 
ciety chatter  with  her  ordinary  English  friends.  But  what 
a  heart  of  strange  emotions  beat  under  that  calm,  white 
breast!  What  thoughts  passed  and  repassed  behind  that 
smooth,  white  brow,  while  the  lightest  nonsense  was  slip- 
ping from  her  lips!  What  self-possession  and  self-control 
she  must  have  had  to  meet  this  curious  position  and  to  live 
this  twofold  life!  What  courage  and  nerves  of  steel  to 
give  herself  to  a  man  whose  very  breath  of  life  is  cruelty, 
whose  jealousy  means  atrocity,  whose  anger  means  death! 
True,  she  was  my  Anna  Lombard,  that  I  had  thought  of 
when  I  had  first  heard  her  name,  stepped  out  of  the  Mid- 
dle Ages  before  me.  And  I  looked  at  her,  sitting  not  far 
from  me,  pale,  calm,  composed  as  a  statue;  and  my  eyes 


AHNA    LOMBARD.  109 

seemed  to  see,  only  through  a  mist  of  pain,  a  shade  from 
those  times  of  blood  and  lust  and  passion  and  crime;  times 
when  swift  poisons  were  made  by  white  fingers,  and  when 
women  loved  as  men,  as  strongly,  and  often  as  briefly; 
when  they  laughed  at  the  idea  of  one  lover,  yet  were  ready 
to  die  with,  for,  or  by  the  hand  of  any  one  of  the  many; 
times  when  the  very  air  they  breathed  seemed  charged  with 
treachery,  cunning,  and  danger.  From  these  a  shade  had 
returned  and  confounded  itself  with  the  clear  white  soul  of 
an  English  girl,  in  a  body  beautiful  and  innocent  to  look 
upon  as  the  sunlight  of  a  summer  day. 

She  sounded  a  gong  on  a  table  near  her,  and  almost 
simultaneously  the  swaying  chick  divided,  and  a  figure 
came  into  the  room — a  room  so  large  and  dark  that  I,  in 
my  far  corner,  half -concealed  by  a  portiere,  would  not  be 
seen  unless  by  one  searching  for  me. 

I  sat  motionless,  hardly  breathing,  in  my  chair  in  the 
shadow.  All  my  senses  seemed  absorbed  in  that  of  vision. 
This,  then,  was  Gaida  Khan.  He  moved  into  the  room 
like  a  king  coming  to  audience.  He  was  of  great  height, 
and  his  form  evidently,  from  its  motions,  as  perfect  as  the 
perfect  face.  I  sat  frozen,  rigid,  while  a  great  hopeless- 
ness settled  on  my  heart  and  seemed  to  kill  it.  A  woman 
whose  eyes  had  been  once  opened  so  that  she  could  see  that 
beauty,  one  whose  senses  were  captured  by  it,  would  never 
be  free,  entirely  free,  till  death  released  her.  This  was  the 
thought  that  seemed  festering  round  my  heart,  chilling 
and  crushing  it  to  nothing.  At  first,  when  I  had  heard 
from  her  lips  that  my  rival  was  a  native,  a  feeling  of  con- 
tempt and  scorn  had  given  me  some  comfort  and  security. 
His  age,  too,  that  of  a  mere  boy;  and  rank,  that  of  the 
bazaar.  Everything  had  seemed  in  my  favor.  But  now 
that  I  saw — all  arguments,  all  reasons,  all  considerations 
of  this  and  that  were  swept  away  when  brought  suddenly 
face  to  face  with  him.  Later,  I  learned  that  there  were 
thousands  of  euch  men  in  northern  India,  serving  in  the 
native  regiments:  soldiers,  weavers,  grass-pi aiters,  men 
walking  with  bare  feet  in  the  dust  of  the  highway,  to  be 
seen  and  found  in  all  sorts  of  occupations,  to  be  met  every 
day  in  the  streets  of  Peshawur;  and  that  Gaida  was  but  a 
good  and  handsome  specimen  of  his  extraordinarily  gifted 
race.  But  I,  though  five  years  in  India,  had  never  before 
met  a  Pathan,  or,  seeing  one,  had  had  my  eyes  and 


110  ANNA    LOMBARD. 

thoughts  elsewhere.  And  now,  with  my  eyes  actually 
sharpened  by  jealous  pain  and  wonder,  I  looked  at  thi> 
man  and  he  seemed  almost  superhuman.  I  had  again,  for 
an  instant,  that  feeling  of  unreality  as  I  watched  him  ad- 
vance with  an  easy,  stately  grace  and  dignity.  Anna  made 
a  slight  motion  of  her  hand  to  the  jilmil  beside  her,  and 
Gaida  moved  toward  it  and  set  it  wide  open,  letting  a  flood 
of  the  bright  yellow  light  from  the  desert  in  upon  his  face — 
doubtless,  as  she  intended.  It  is  difficult  in  the  slow,  cold 
words  that  follow  one  another  on  paper  to  convey  any  idea 
of  the  glory  of  beauty  that  the  hand  of  God  has  set  upon 
this  race.  The  face  was  of  the  Greek  type  in  the  absolute 
oval  of  its  contour,  and  the  perfectly  straight  features,  the 
high  nose  chiseled  in  one  line  with  the  forehead,  the  short, 
curling  upper  lip,  and  the  full,  rounded  chin;  but  curious- 
ly unlike  the  Greek  type,  which  shares,  with  almost  all 
statuesquely  beautiful  features,  a  certain,  hard  emptiness 
and  fixity,  this  face  was  full  of  fire,  animation,  and  brill 
iance.  The  skin  was  smooth  and  soft  as  velvet,  of  the  tint 
of  burnished  copper,  but  glowing  and  transparent;  and 
eyes  full  of  intellect  and  pride  looked  out  from  dark- 
marked  eyebrows  that  swept  the  smooth  brow  in  a  wide 
arch  above  them.  On  his  black  hair,  which  curled  closely 
round  the  ears  and  nape  of  his  neck,  he  wore  a  high,  scar, 
let  turban,  the  two  ends  of  which  fell  as  low  as  his  waist  at 
the  back,  and  seemed  to  add  still  greater  grace  to  the  ex- 
quisite poise  of  the  head,  that  was  supported  by  a  neck  like 
a  massive  column  of  warmed  and  tinted  marble.  What  a 
marvel  of  humanity,  what  a  chef-d'oeuvre  of  its  Creator! 
That  beauty  was  like  a  sort  of  magic,  as  she  had  said.  I 
realized  it  with  my  whole  soul  in  those  few  moments.  If 
that  had  been  a  woman,  I  might  have  been  as  faithless  to 
Anna  as  she  was  now  to  me,  for  his  sake. 

As  it  was,  I  sat  paralyzed  and  gazing  at  him,  feeling 
crushed  and  without  hope.  I  knew  then  what  a  woman 
feels  who  finds  herself  in  the  blaze  of  another  woman's 
beauty  which  has  scorched  out  light  and  love  from  her  own 
life. 

"  Thank  you,"  Anna  said,  speaking  in  Hindustani, 
"  and  have  you  any  new  fans  to  show  me  to-day,  Gaida?" 

The  Pathan  smiled,  and  it  was  as  if  a  sword  cut  me. 
The  smile  was  irresistible,  sweet  as  might  be  painted  on  the 
lips  of  Botticelli's  cherubs.  A  soft  light  played  all  over 


ANNA    LOMBARD.  Ill 

the  youthful  face,  and  the  delicately  carved  lips  parted 
from  the  faultless  lines  of  even,  milky  teeth. 

"  Look  at  this  punkah,"  he  replied,  taking  from  his 
right  hand  to  his  left  a  fan  of  plaited  grass,  worked  so 
finely  one  could  not  imagine  fingers  had  woven  it  together. 

"  Lovely,  indeed,"  returned  Anna,  taking  it  from  him. 
"  How  long  did  it  take  you  to  do  this?" 

"  Oh,  a  day  and  a  half,  I  think,"  replied  the  Pathan, 
lightly.  "  The  Mohurrum  festival  will  be  here  soon.  Do 
you  like  my  dress  for  it?" 

He  turned  round  before  her  as  he  spoke,  displaying  the 
festival  dress,  and  with  it  the  magnificence  of  his  shapely 
form.  The  dress  was  exceedingly  rich,  the  attire  of  the 
Mohammedan  for  a  fete.  The  zouave  jacket  was  of  tur- 
quoise silk  embroidered  in  gold,  over  a  fine  white  tunic  of 
muslin,  thin  as  a  spider's  web.  The  trousers  were  the 
full  Turkish  shape,  and  of  fine  white  linen,  and  gold-em- 
broidered sandals  were  on  his  feet. 

"  It  is  very  pretty — perfect,  I  think,  Gaida,"  she  an- 
swered. "  I  am  glad  you  showed  it  to  me.  You  and  all 
the  servants,  except  my  own  bearer,  can  have  a  holiday  the 
entire  day.  You  can  tell  them." 

Gaida  nodded  and  smiled  again. 

"  I  want  you  to  be  there  to  see  us,"  he  said.  "  Will 
you  come  down  to  the  sahib's  office  in  the  city  and  see  us 
pass  by?" 

"  I  will  try,"  said  Anna.  "  And  now  I  have  things  to 
Ao;  I  must  see  to  them,  Gaida." 

She  rose  from  her  chair,  and  then  the  two  figures  were 
standing  close  together  and  made  a  perfect  picture,  such 
•%s  one  could  seldom  see,  in  the  warm  radiance  of  light  fall- 
ing in  upon  them  from  the  open  jilmil.  Anna,  tall  and 
graceful,  in  her  long,  flowing  white  muslin,  with  her  fair 
English  face  and  her  sunny  hair  crowning  her  upraised 
head,  and  Gaida,  taller  still,  magnificent  in  his  Oriental 
dress,  with  his  regal  head  inclined  a  little  as  he  looked 
down  on  her.  It  seemed  like  a  page  torn  from  the  "  Ara- 
bian Nights,"  and  put  before  me. 

"  Good-by,"  I  heard  Anna  say  gently,  and  then  before 
my  straining,  starting  eyes,  I  saw  the  Pathan  take  her 
right  hand,  very  gently  and  reverently — as  I  myself  would 
have  done — and  draw  her  a  little  closer  to  him.  He  bent 
his  head  down  and  kissed  her  on  the  lips.  Every  move- 


112  AHNA    LOMBARD. 

rnent  of  the  proud  neck  and  shoulders  was  grace  and  dig- 
nity incarnate.  Then  they  unclasped  hands,  and  he  turned 
away  and  walked  toward  the  chick,  erect  and  easily  as  he 
had  entered,  passed  through  it,  and  was  gone.  My  hands 
were  clinched  on  each  chair-arm  till  the  bones  almost  start- 
ed; my  brain  seemed  bursting,  my  eyeballs  seemed  to 
strain  beyond  their  lids.  What  had  passed  before  me  had 
been  an  idyl  of  purity  and  dignity  and  grace.  No  kiss 
could  have  been  given  or  received  with  more  perfect  chas- 
tity of  look,  gesture,  and  action.  And  every  motion  of  his 
frame,  from  the  stretching  out  of  his  hand  to  the  bending 
of  that  kingly  head  till  his  lips  touched  hers,  would  have 
been  an  ideal  for  a  painter  drawing  a  monarch  bestowing 
a  kiss  upon  his  betrothed.  And  he  was  a  barbarian  who 
trod  the  streets  of  a  bazaar  with  naked,  dusty  feet!  But, 
against  myself,  my  instincts,  to  a  certain  extent,  justified 
Anna.  What  wonder  that,  with  her  eye  so  sensitive  to 
beauty,  her  brain  so  saturated  with  poetry  and  romance  of 
feeling,  she  should  be  fascinated  beyond  power  of  resistance 
by  this  presence  that  compelled  even  my  admiration — I, 
'who  had  lost  all  through  him;  I,  who  hated  and  loathed 
him;  I,  whose  life  was  devastated  by  him.  Yes,  even  I, 
looking  through  her  eyes,  could  see  and  feel  and  realize  the 
overpowering  influence  that  rushed  through  her  and  domi- 
nated her  and  made  her  yield  to  that  kiss,  even  here,  now, 
before  my  eyes. 

What  a  strange  and  extraordinarily  fascinating  mixture 
he  was!  That  extreme  sweetness  and  most  Caressable  and 
appealing  youthfulness  when  he  smiled,  contrasted  how 
sharply  with  the  cold,  serene  beauty  of  his  profile  in  re- 
pose, the  hauteur  of  that  curling  lip,  the  proud  step  and 
carriage,  the  calm  authority  of  that  last  embrace. 

After  he  had  left,  1  neither  moved  nor  stirred.  I  felt  I 
could  not.  There  was  utter  silence  in  the  room  between 
us.  Then  Anna  came  over  to  me,  knelt  beside  my  chair, 
and  laid  her  head  down  on  my  knees. 

"Gerald." 

"  Yes." 

"  What  do  you  think  of  him?" 

"  I  understand  now." 

The  words  were  just  a  hoarse  whisper.  I  could  not 
articulate  more.  I  stretched  out  my  hand  and  laid  it  gen- 
tly on  her  soft  hair. 


ANNA    LOMBARD.  113 

"  Yet  I  do  not  love  him  as  I  love  you,"  she  declared, 
oassionately,  raising  her  head  and  looking  at  me  with  clear, 
burning  eyes.  "  But,  oh,  the  influence  he  has  upon  me 
when  I  see  him  enter  the  room,  when  I  look  at  him,  and 
when  I  think  of  losing  him — " 

She  did  not  finish;  but  the  shudder  that  went  over  her, 
and  the  gray  pallor  that  drove  out  the  rose  color  in  her 
face,  finished  it  for  her.  I  passed  my  arm  round  her  and 
kept  it  there.  I  felt  as  if  she  had  wounded  me  and  I  was 
bleeding  to  death;  yet  to  caress  her  was  still  a  pleasure, 
and  she  knelt  beside  me  willingly,  inclining  toward  me, 
absorbed  in  me.  It  was  strange.  She  did  love  me,  there 
was  no  doubt.  What  was  this  horrible  mystery  of  a  double 
love? 

There  was  a  long  silence,  then  I  murmured,  hardly  con- 
scious that  I  was  thinking  aloud: 

"It  is  impossible,  inconceivable,  unprecedented!  No 
woman  has  ever  done  it." 

"  What?"  asked  Anna,  with  straining  eyes  wandering 
over  my  face. 

"  Been  in  love,"  I  answered,  mechanically,  "  really  and 
passionately  in  love  with  two  men,  at  the  same  time." 

"  If  you  had  stayed  and  been  with  me,  and  I  had  met 
Graida,"  she  answered,  in  her  peculiar,  trenchant  way, 
when  her  voice,  coming  down  with  each  word,  seemed  like 
>  hammer  falling  true  on  its  nail,  "  I  do  not  think  I  should 
have  cared  or  taken  any  notice  of  him,  any  more  than  of 
the  thousands  of  beautiful  faces  round  one,  out  here.  But 
you  were  not  here,  and  I  had  no  idea  you  would  ever  re- 
turn to  me.  I  do  love  Gaida  now,  and  you,  too — both 
-of  you.  It  may  be  inconceivable,  impossible,  unprecedent- 
ed, as  you  say,  but  it  is  so.  If  I  could  kill  my  love  for 
him,  I  would;  for  I  want  to  be  free  from  him.  I  love  you 
«jo  much,  I  want  to  be  with  you,  live  with  you,  spend  every 
minute  of  my  life  with  you;  but  something — some  intangi- 
ble, fearful  something — binds  me  to  this  man,  and  I  can't 
loose  myself." 

She  spoke  the  last  words,  slowly,  fearfully,  and  her  face 
grew  pale  and  her  eyes  dilated.  She  gave  one  fleeting, 
half-terrified  glance  round  the  room,  as  if  seeking  to  see 
with  physical  vision  this  terrible,  compelling  force  that  was 
.overmastering  her. 

"  How  can  it  possibly  be  kept  a  secret — your  marriage?" 


114  ANNA    LOMBARD. 

[  asked,  after  a  moment.     "  It  seems  as  if  such  a  thing 
must  be  known  all  over  the  station  directly." 

"  It  may  be,"  she  answered  back,  in  a  half-audible  whis- 
per, "  at  any  moment.  There  is  so  much  chance  in  these 
things.  They  may  or  may  not  be  found  out  to-day  or  to- 
morrow or  any  time.  There  is  no  certainty.  But  all  the 
servants  are  afraid  of  Gaida.  They  think  he  has  some 
supernatural  power  over  them  for  harm  if  they  betray  him, 
and  he  has  told  them  that  if  his  secret  gets  known,  no  mat- 
ter how,  he  will  run  amuck  and  kill  them  all.  They  are 
all  anxious  to  cover  it  up  and  to  prevent  any  possibility  of 
Us  becoming  known,  rather  than  to  gossip  about  it.  They 
are  terrified  at  the  mere  idea  of  its  being  discovered.  They 
feel  Gaida  would  not  wait  to  find  out  who  had  told.  If  it 
jbecame  known,  he  would  simply  rush  upon  them,  all  with 
his  knife  and  kill  all  he  could.  It  becomes,  then,  a  mat- 
ter they  all  wish  to  keep  from  disclosure.  They  are  in 
terror  of  him — a  sort  of  superstitious  terror." 

"  And  how  were  you  married?"  I  asked  after  another 
Jong  pause,  and  which  I  tried  to  bend  my  thoughts  on 
Jthese  questions  I  wanted  to  ask  her. 

"  Not  here,"  she  answered  in  the  same  undertone,  as  if 
jhe  were  afraid  of  the  very  walls  and  swaying  chicles.  "  It 
was  when  we  were  on  a  visit  to  Peshawur.  One  night  he 
got  me  to  come  away  and  go  through  the  marriage  cere- 
mony among  his  own  people.  He  took  me,  veiled,  to  a 
queer  sort  of  house,  and  we  went  through  some  ceremonies 
he  said  meant  marriage.  Of  course  I  could  not  tell  nor 
day  if  they  were  so  or  not;  but  I  think  so,  because,  you 
riee  " — and  a  little  sad,  bitter  smile  swept  over  her  face — 
"  he  is  anxous  to  tie  me  to  him  in  every  way  in  his  power. 
The  next  day  we  were  leaving,  and  after  a  week  or  two's 
travel  we  came  back  here — papa  and  I,  I  mean — and  all 
our  servants,  of  course,  including  Gaida,  came  back  too." 

Just  at  this  moment,  and  before  she  could  rise  from  her 
knees,  the  chick  parted  and  the  butler  entered  with  cards 
an  a  salver. 

"  Captain  Sahib  and  Mem  Sahib  Webb,  ay  a,"  he  said, 
*nd  I  rose  to  go. 

When  I  was  leaving  the  veranda  I  heard  Anna's  light, 
clear,  well-bred  tones  welcoming  her  guests. 

"  This  is  good  of  you  to  come  and  see  me.  It  is  terribly 
hot  to-day,  isn't  it?" 


ANNA    LOMBARD.  115 

And  I  went  away  painfully  marveling  at  her  and  at  it. 
all. 


CHAPTER  V. 

FROM  that  day  commenced  a  curious,  strained  existence 
which  would  have  been  intolerable  to  most  men  and  was 
nearly  so  to  me.  Yet  I  had  determined  on  a  particular 
line  of  conduct.  I  saw  victory  at  the  end,  however  long 
and  tedious  the  battle;  and  at  the  end  of  every  other  course* 
I  saw  only  loss.  This  thought  nerved  me  again  and  agair\ 
when  it  seemed  I  had  come  to  the  last  remnant  of  nrjr 
strength. 

At  times,  the  mere  anxiety  for  her  seemed  to  be  a  strain 
greater  than  I  could  bear.  It  seemed  to  me  impossible 
that  such  a  state  of  things  could  continue,  such  a  relation- 
ship could  remain  a  secret  for  long  and  how  it  would  be 
discovered  and  what  she  might  be  tempted  or  forced  to  do; 
above  all,  what  the  man  might  do  when  be  realized  him- 
self to  be  on  the  point  of  losing  her — were  questions  that 
rose  in  blood-red  letters  before  my  eyes  at  all  times  and 
came  between  me  and  my  work  and  my  sleep.  I  dreaded 
to  open  the  papers  lest  I  might  see  the  story  there;  1 
dreaded  to  halt  my  carriage  in  the  bazaar  lest  I  might  hear 
her  name  bandied  about  by  the  native  crowd.  My  heart 
beat  when  I  saw  a  group  of  natives  discussing  together  on 
the  road  or  in  the  compound.  They  might  be  discussing 
her.  But,  so  far,  my  fears  and  apprehensions  were  not 
fulfilled;  as,  in  this  life  they  so  seldom  are.  It  is  some- 
thing we  do  not  fear  and  have  never  apprehended  that 
leaps  out  upon  us  from  the  future  and  devastates  our  lives. 

The  days  slipped  by  quietly  without  event,  and  Anna 
lived  her  double  life  and  divided  herself  between  two  loveb 
undisturbed.  Circumstances  seemed  to  lend  themselves 
completely  to  her  wishes,  and  Fate  herself  seemed  inter- 
ested in  keeping  her  secret.  The  Lombards'  bungalow  was 
very  large,  and  Anna's  room — in  fact,  a  whole  suite  of 
rooms,  only  used  by  her — was  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
house  from  her  father's.  The  large,  open  windows  that 
naturally  stood  wide  all  night;  the  outside  spiral  stair- 
case hidden  under  its  wealth  of  foliage  reaching  from  her 
window  to  the  compound;  the  compound  itself,  a  perfect 
jungle  of  flowers  and  trees  no  ej>e  from  outside  could 


116  ANNA    LOMBARD. 

pierce,  and  that  included  all  the  native  servants'  dwell- 
ings— all  these  things  made  it  easy  for  her  to  receive 
Gaida  as  soon  as  the  general  had  retired  and  the  bungalow 
was  dark  and  still.  In  the  day  she  never  saw  him  or  sent 
for  him,  except  in  his  capacity  as  servant;  and  he  was  in  n<» 
way  favored  in  money,  dress,  or  quarters  above  the  other 
servants.  The  superstitious  terror  with  which  they  had 
come  to  regard  him,  shut  off  that  greatest  source  of  scandal 
— native  gossip.  In  the  day,  Anna  was  entirely  with  mo, 
and  if  slander  could  have  touched  her  at  all,  it  would  have 
connected  her  name  with  mine  and  none  other.  Yet,  even 
so,  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  the  whole  matter  must  rise  to  the 
light  in  some  way;  and  I  waited  in  dread  for  the  hour  oi 
discovery. 

The  more  I  studied  Anna  the  more  incomprehensible 
and  terrible  this  strange  dual  passion  of  hers  become  for 
me;  but,  also,  I  became  more  and  more  convinced  I  had 
decided  rightly  in  not  abandoning  her  to  herself.  Neither 
would  she  have  deserved  my  desertion.  For  this  miserable 
love  that  had  overtaken  her  she  was  no  more  to  be  held  re- 
sponsible than  she  would  have  been  for  any  physical  mal- 
ady she  might  have  been  stricken  with.  She  loved  me  with 
the  same  faithful,  tender  devotion  she  had  given  me  from 
the  first;  and  it  seemed,  when  we  were  alone  together,  im- 
possible to  me  that  she  could  be  living  the  life  she  was. 
But,  indeed,  her  love  for  Gaida  seemed  to  have  no  sort  of 
influence  upon  her  love  for  and  her  relations  with  me.  II 
was  a  thing  utterly  separate  and  apart  from  that  self  which 
she  gave  to  me.  Within  her  the  two  loves,  the  higher  and 
the  lower,  seemed  to  exist  together  without  touching  or 
disturbing  the  other;  just  as  in  a  river  sometimes  one  sees 
two  streams,  one  muddy,  the  other  clear,  flowing  side  by 
side  without  mixing. 

That  such  a  state  of  things  should  have  arisen,  that  such 
feelings,  which  would  have  been  designated  by  the  igno- 
rant and  unthinking  as  mere  wantonness,  should  have 
sprung  up  in  this  nature,  seemed  the  more  unreasonable 
and  terrible,  because  it  appeared  to  be  one  unusually  chaste,, 
pure,  and  refined.  In  all  her  intimate  conversations  with 
me,  there  had  never  been  one  coarse  word,  never  the  faint- 
est suggestion  of  a  dullness  of  the  moral  sense,  never  even 
a  suspicion  of  indelicacy  in  her  wit.  Moreover,  she 
was  an  extremely  religious  girl,  not  perhaps  religious  in  a 


ANNA    LOMBARD.  117 

very  open  and  ostentatious  way,  but  in  that  infinitely  truer 
way,  religious  in  the  deepest  inner  life  of  the  soul.  I  did 
not  recognize  this  fully  at  first;  but  as  she  admitted  me 
more  and  more  into  her  confidence,  this  side  of  her  nature 
stood  out  before  me  so  clearly  that  it  seemed  to  make  the 
situation  and  her  actions  incredible.  I  met  her  one  Sun- 
day afternoon,  quite  suddenly  and  unexpectedly,  coming 
down  the  steps  of  the  church,  just  after  the  service  was 
over.  It  was  a  quiet,  drowsy  afternoon,  and  the  neighbor- 
hood of  the  church  was  almost  deserted.  Only  a  few  chil- 
dren under  the  care  of  their  ayah,  and  one  or  two  old  ladies 
who  tottered  down  the  steps  and  drove  off  in  their  waiting 
carriages,  represented  the  congregation;  for  the  fashion- 
able time  was  the  early  morning  service,  when  it  was  cool 
enough  for  the  women  to  enjoy  their  elaborate  toilets,  and 
they  knew  the  church  would  be  full  of  eyes  to  admire 
them.  In  the  hot  Indian  afternoon  one  only  wanted  to  lie 
under  a  punkah  and  go  to  sleep.  I  was  very  much  sur- 
prised, therefore,  to  see  Anna  at  this  time  and  place;  and 
I  stood  still,  unobserved,  to  look  at  her.  She  was  very 
simply  dressed,  and  clasped  in  her  hands  a  small,  white 
ivory  prayer-book.  The  sun  shone  down  on  her  unshaded 
face,  which  was  a  little  pale;  and  her  eyes  looked  very  pure 
and  innocent,  as  if  still  full  of  prayer.  Thinking  in  my 
mind  she  was  not  unlike  the  poetical  conception  of  Mar- 
guerite leaving  the  cathedral,  and  reflecting  bitterly  that 
suffering  not  unlike  Marguerite's  lay  before  her,  I  went 
forward  and  she  saw  me. 

"  This  is  very  nice  to  meet  you  here,"  she  said,  smiling. 

"  Have  you  been  to  church?"  I  said,  abruptly,  though 
the  fact  was  obvious,  as  I  placed  myself  by  her  side  and  we 
walked  on  very  slowly. 

"  Yes.  I  like  the  afternoon  service.  It  is  so  quiet  and 
peaceful,  with  no  people  to  disturb  you,  no  staring  faces 
nor  rustling  gowns." 

"  Anna,  do  you  believe  all  that  is  in  that  prayer-book?" 

"  Oh,  no,"  she  said.  "  The  prayer-book  is  a  thing  of 
man,  and  may,  like  other  human  things,  be  full  of  errors 
and  mistakes.  I  don't  know  that  it  is;  but  I,  personally, 
do  not  feel  that  I  believe  in  it.  But  then  I  believe  in  the 
general  idea  that  this  Church  and  prayer-book  stand  for." 

"  Do  you  believe  in  a  God?" 

"  Yes,  Gerald,  I  do.    I  believe  in  some  supreme  power; 


118  ANNA    LOMBAKD. 

something  that  is  above  us;  something  above  our  own 
powers  and  understanding.  I  may  be  wrong.  There  may 
be  nothing,  but  I  feel  that  there  is,  and  I  have  always  felt 
very  near  that  God.  I  am  always  praying  to  him,  asking 
him,  consulting  him  about  something.  If  I  am  miserable, 
I  pray  to  him;  if  I  am  happy,  I  thank  him;  if  I  am  in 
danger,  I  pray  to  him;  and  I  feel  his  hand  is  round  me, 
inclosing  me,  and  nothing  can  hurt  me." 

I  stared  at  the  calm,  serious  face  beside  me. 

"  And  what  about  offending  this  deity?"  I  asked. 

"  I  try  never  to  do  what  I  feel  is  wrong,"  she  said,  in  a 
low  tone. 

"  And  you  are  satisfied  in  your  relations  to  this  man?" 
I  said. 

"  A  great  love  came  into  my  heart  for  him  and  I  mar- 
ried him.  I  feel  sorry  because  it  would  grieve  my  father, 
if  he  knew.  Otherwise — morally,  I  mean — is  it  any  differ- 
ent from  marrying  any  one  else?" 

"  And  your  deity  also  approves  of  your  being  in  love 
with  two  men  at  the  same  time,  I  suppose?"  I  said,  with  a 
bitterness  I  could  not  suppress. 

Anna  paused  in  her  walk  and  turned  and  faced  me. 
We  were  quite  alone  in  the  sleepy  stillness  of  the  Sunday 
afternoon;  the  leaves  flickered  and  swayed  over  our  heads 
and  threw  light  shadows  on  the  little  gravel  path  before  us. 

"  Gerald,"  she  said,  looking  steadily  at  me,  "  I  have 
told  you  that  feelings  can  not  be  controlled  beyond  a  cer- 
tain point.  If  you  came  to  me  and  found  me  suffering 
with  a  violent  headache  and  said,  '  Anna,  this  headache  is 
sinful,  you  must  get  rid  of  it,'  what  could  I  do?" 

"  You  could  cure  the  headache  and  the  love,"  I  an- 
swered, sullenly. 

"  Yes,  if  the  Divine  Father  willed;  and  if  not,  not.  I 
suppose  it  is  some  power  beyond  our  own  that  wills  us  to 
love  at  all.  Certainly,  love  enters  our  hearts  without  our 
own  volition;  and  I,  apparently,  have  been  willed  to  love 
two  men  instead  of  one,  and  what  can  I  do?" 

"  Anna,  this  is  all  sophistry.  We  are  not  reading  Plato 
now;  we  are  looking  at  life,  and  you  profess  to  be  looking 
at  it  from  a  religious  standpoint.  If  you  look  upon  your- 
self as  being  regularly  married  to  this  man  and  as  being 
his  wife,  how  can  it  be  right  to  entertain  love  for  me?" 

"  I  don't  entertain  it,"  answered  Anna,  wearily;  "  it 


ANNA    LOMBARD.  119 

forced  itself  upon  me.  I  loved  you  for  a  whole  year  before 
I  saw  Gaida.  Do  you  wish  me  to  banish  you  from  me?  I 
could  do  that,  but  I  could  not  destroy  my  love  for  you." 

"  Well,  but  the  other—"  I  said,  desperately. 

"  Gaida  has  been  and  is  very  good  to  me.  Do  you 
think,  if  I  threw  him  aside,  it  would  be  specially  pleasing 
to  God — supposing  God  is  interested  in  my  actions  at  all?" 

I  was  silent.  She  possessed,  somehow,  the  art  of  con- 
fusing one's  thoughts  as  she  did  one's  senses.  I  found 
nothing  to  answer  her  with  immediately,  and,  after  a  sec- 
ond, she  added,  "  Two  men  love  me  and  are  very  good  to 
me,  each  in  a  different  way;  and  I  love  them  both,  each 
in  a  different  way;  and  why  all  this  is  so,  I  do  not  know; 
but  I  feel  I  can  do  very  little  in  it.  *  And  for  these  un- 
known matters,  a  God  shall  find  out  the  way,'  "  she  quoted 
very  softly  from  the  familiar  Greek. 

We  both  walked  on  slowly  and  in  silence;  and  a  little 
farther  on  there  was  a  stone  seat,  grown  over  with  moss  and 
shaded  by  a  cotton-tree  and  climbing  convolvulus.  Here 
we  sat  down  by  common  consent,  and  I  looked  at  her  face 
with  its  pale  tranquillity  and  serious  calm.  It  was  possi- 
ble that  a  God  was  holding  her  in  his  hand  and  for  his  own 
ends  made  her  suffer  and  feel  differently  from  other  wom- 
en; and  it  was  possible,  too,  that  the  same  God  would,  as 
she  said,  discover  the  way  of  deliverance  for  her.  That 
was  evidently  her  faith. 

"  Let  us  go  home,"  she  said,  after  a  silence.  "  It  was 
a  very  long  service,  and,  then,  talking  of  these  things  with 
you,  Gerald,  always  tires  me  out." 

She  rose,  and  we  wended  our  way  slowly  back  to  her 
bungalow,  where  I  left  her  and  went  on  to  my  own,  to 
spend  the  rest  of  the  afternoon  in  a  gloomy  meditation  by 
myself. 

Whatever  she  might  say  or  feel  could  not  alter  my  own 
idea  of  my  duty  toward  her;  which  was  to  draw  her — not 
violently  or  by  coercion,  but  gently;  and,  in  the  end,  with 
her  consent — from  her  relation  to  Gaida,  which  she  might, 
but  I  could  not,  look  upon  as  marriage.  It  was  not  my 
duty  to  consider  him  or  care  for  him.  It  seemed  to  me  my 
duty  to  try  and  extricate  her  from  this  position,  so  full  of 
dangers  and  horror  that  she,  in  some  inexplicable  way, 
failed  entirely  to  realize. 


120  ANNA    LOMBARD. 

I  entertained  more  than  ever.  I  was  constantly  devising 
a  luncheon,  a  dinner,  a  picnic,  a  dance.  All  were  given  in 
rapid  succession,  and  then  the  circle  recommenced.  Anna 
was  always  invited  and  always  came,  hardly  going  any- 
where else,  in  fact,  that  she  might  be  sure  of  not  being 
obliged  to  refuse  me.  At  these  dinners  or  dances,  outside 
of  my  duties  as  host,  I  devoted  myself  to  her;  and  this,  in 
view  of  our  acknowledged  position,  was  indulgently  accept- 
ed by  all. 

In  a  little  while  the  station  began  to  feel  that  there  must 
be  some  complication,  which  was  preventing  the  course  of 
our  love  flowing  smoothly  into  matrimony.  For  weeks 
they  waited  eagerly  for  the  date  of  the  marriage  to  be  given 
out.  Then  expectation  almost  ceased,  and  speculation  on 
the  nature  of  the  obstacle  took  its  place.  This  was  all  the 
more  excited  and  curious  as,  I  think,  it  must  have  been 
evident  to  all  that  two  people  were  seldom  so  passionately 
moved  toward  each  other  as  we  were.  Anna's  face  was 
only  the  most  delicate  screen  to  her  soul,  and  love,  anger, 
grief,  passion  were  all  reflected  in  it  and  played  over  it,  if 
any  of  these  were  swaying  her  spirit;  and  as  she  sat  beside 
me  or  spoke  to  me,  her  eyes  flashed  and  melted  and  grew 
dark  by  turns.  Her  voice  had  the  softness  of  love.  She 
smiled  when  our  glances  met  across  a  table  or  crowded 
room.  She  yielded  all — or  nearly  all — her  dances  to  me; 
and  showed  in  every  way  that  she  came  to  my  house  for  its 
host  alone.  Moreover,  it  was  not  only  at  entertainments 
that  we  met.  We  passed  almost  the  whole  day  together, 
walking  or  riding  or  driving,  breakfasting  on  the  general's 
veranda  or  mine.  The  station  rarely  saw  one  of  us,  with- 
out the  other  being  present. 

Then  with  wealth  and  youth  and  health  and  love  and 
equality  on  each  side,  what  could  this  incomprehensible 
cause  for  delay  consist  in?  The  station  racked  its  brains 
and  had  headaches  over  it,  but  could  not  decide  the  ques- 
tion. Some  of  the  less  excitable  and  curious  said  it  was 
just  a  young  girl's  caprice,  to  put  off  a  little  lunger  the 
serious  part  of  life.  Anna  had,  after  all,  but  just  come 
out  from  England  and,  practically,  school.  She  wanted 
to  have  a  little  more  gayety  and  frivolous  amusement  be- 
fore taking  up  a  position  as  a  married  woman.  Others 
argued  that  if  she  was  going  to  be  so  wholly  devoted  to  one 
man  in  society  as  she  was  to  her  fiance,  she  might  as  well 


ANNA    LOMBARD.  ,,  121 

be  married  to  him;  and  a  great  number  of  mammas  and 
young  girls,  who  had  hardly  looked  at  me  before  I  went  to 
Burmah,  lamented  and  wondered  over  Anna's  folly  in  not 
immediately  seizing  upon  the  prize  I  presented.  Many  of 
them  amiably  attempted  to  console  me  for  and  lure  ma 
from  my  unrewarded  service.  Such  efforts  caused  me 
amusement,  mingled  with  pain.  It  seemed  a  pity  they 
should  waste  them  on  me,  a  pity  I  could  not  tell  them  ho^- 
utterly  and  entirely  my  soul  was  anchored  in  Anna's, 
breast,  explain  to  them  how  all  my  desires  were  bound  up 
in  this  one  woman.  And  she  grew  dearer  to  me  every  day, 
Her  constant  society  did  not  weary  me  nor  let  me  come  tc. 
the  end  of  her  learning  and  brilliance.  It  only  drew  m& 
closer  and  closer  to  her.  Her  mind  and  heart  and  soul 
opened  more  to  me  each  day,  and  the  farther  I  looked  into 
them  the  more  I  loved  her,  the  more  restless  and  desper- 
ate I  became  to  have  all  this  empire  to  myself. 

We  often  began  our  day  together  by  a  ride  before  break- 
fast— a  ride  through  the  great,  cool,  dewy  gardens,  where 
the  pomegranate  buds  were  unfolding,  and  then  break- 
fasted together  with  the  general  on  his  veranda.  Then  a 
break  through  the  morning  of  my  official  duties;  but  a  re- 
turn to  lunch  with  her  again  in  the  middle  of  the  day, 
to  consult  with  her  on  a  thousand  points  of  difficulty  that 
had  presented  themselves  that  morning  or  previously  and 
to  hear  her  elucidating  them  and  straightening  them  out 
for  me  or  else  merely  listening  to  me  with  great  eyes  fixed 
on  me,  all  attention  and  sympathy.  A  little  more  work  in 
the  afternoon,  and  then  afternoon  tea  in  the  shade  of  her 
rose-scented  drawing-room  or  beneath  the  banana-trees  in 
the  compound,  from  where  we  could  see  the  miles  of  desert 
sand  and  the  dancing,  sapphire  sea,  like  a  line  of  jewels  on 
the  horizon,  and  in  the  foreground  a  string  of  camels  wind- 
ing slowly  across  into  the  light  of  the  west.  Then  dinner 
at  my  house  and  a  dance  afterward,  and  the  intoxication  of 
the  music  and  the  movement  with  Anna  held  close  to  my 
bosom,  in  my  arms,  till  four,  perhaps,  in  the  morning;  and 
then — the  rending  apart,  the  yielding  her  up,  and  the 
black  dejection  that  would  come  over  me.  Sometimes, 
when  she  and  all  my  guests  had  gone,  I  would  fling  myself 
into  a  chair  in  the  deserted  room,  and  so  sit  through  the 
night,  with  teeth  set  and  my  nails  sunk  deep  into  the 
palms  of  my  hands;  till  the  dawn  crept  in,  gliding  the 


122  ANNA    LOMBARD. 

compound.  Those  horrible  hours  passed  over  my  head 
without  count.  I  was  so  absorbed  in  intense  thought,  in- 
tense suffering,  that  when  the  morning  light  filled  the 
room  round  me  it  seemed  merely  like  the  flash  of  a  few 
minutes  since  Anna  had  left  me.  Then,  knowing  I  was 
due  to  ride  with  her  or  share  her  chota  Jtazcri — or  first 
breakfast — on  the  veranda,  I  would  go  straight  to  my 
dressing-room  to  change  my  clothes;  and  for  many  nights 
together  the  mosquito-nets  on  my  bed  would  remain  undis- 
turbed. Food,  too,  I  could  hardly  touch.  The  mental 
anxiety  and  excitement  in  which  I  lived  seemed  to  close 
my  throat  against  it.  Those  terrible  nights  of  desperate 
pain  left  me  for  the  succeeding  day  strung  up  to  that  de- 
gree of  nervous  tension  when  one  can  think  clearly,  speak 
well,  transact  all  business,  and  do  all  mental  work  with 
great  speed  and  ease;  but  can  neither  eat  nor  sleep  nor  give 
one's  attention  to  trivial,  restful  things.  I  felt  strained  to 
the  utmost  limit.  To  be  with  Anna  so  constantly;  to  love 
her  so  dearly;  to  long  for  her  so  passionately;  to  see  the  ter- 
rible danger  in  which  she  stood;  to  feel  that  on  me  alone 
depended  all  hope  of  drawing  her  from  that  quicksand  of 
passion  in  which  she  was  sinking;  to  know  that  a  moment's 
relaxation  of  my  efforts  would  undo  weeks  of  care;  to  feel 
that,  strive  as  I  would,  my  position  was  infinitely  less  pow- 
erful, less  advantageous,  than  the  man's  who  could  take 
her  in  his  arms,  hold  her  to  his  breast,  and  call  her  his;  to 
know  that  after  a  day  of  painful  effort,  when  she  had  been 
drawn  toward  me  and  much  had  been  gained,  he,  in  one 
embrace  that  night,  would  probably  regain  her  wavering 
will  and  chain  her  to  himself  again — all  this  strove  hard 
(and  how  nearly  successfully  I  shall  never  know)  to  turn 
my  brain  from  its  balance.  But  I  tried  to  keep  my  firm- 
ness and  coolness,  tried  to  dismiss  the  thoughts  of  Gaida 
and  his  influence,  and  merely  exert  my  own  to  the  fullest; 
tried  to  see  the  proofs  that  I  was  succeeding  and  draw  fresh 
encouragement  from  them.  But  at  infinite  cost.  I  hardly 
recognized  my  own  eyes  now,  when  they  looked  back  from 
the  glass  at  me.  They  looked  so  large  and  burning  in  the 
pale  face,  and  I  often  wondered,  dully,  as  I  was  shaving, 
almost  as  an  outsider  would,  how  the  whole  thing  would 
end.  If  I  could  have  felt  certain  that  I  was  on  the  right 
path,  it  would  have  been  different;  but  great  doubts  would 
seize  me,  and  the  knowledge  that  a  few  moments  with 


ANKA    LOMBAKD.  123 

Qaida  was  perhaps  enough  to  undo  hours  by  my  side, 
stared  me  in  the  face.     In  fact,  a  certain  night  came  which 
jhowed  me  how  little  way  I  had  actually  progressed,  and 
vhat  a  terrible  uphill,  stony  path  rose  yet  before  me. 

Toward  the  end  of  the  month  a  great  fete  was  to  be  given 
in  the  commissioner's  gardens,  for  both  Europeans  and 
natives.  Now,  these  mixed  fetes  are  naively  supposed  by 
the  complacent  Indian  Government  to  bring  the  two  classes 
together.  They  are  a  concession  to  that  section  of  the 
community  that  thinks  the  native  should  be  brought  up  to 
the  level  of  and  treated  as  a  white;  and  to  the  uninitiated, 
to  those  who  have  never  been  to  one,  this  form  of  diversion 
seems  as  if  it  might  bring  about  a  delightfully  social  and 
friendly  intercourse — at  least  for  that  particular  afternoon 
or  evening.  The  reality,  however,  hardly  impresses  one 
that  way.  What  happens  is  this.  The  gates  of  a  magnifi- 
cent public  or  private  garden — a  trifle  of  two  hundred  acres 
or  so — are  thrown  open  to  black  and  white  alike,  but  not 
the  house  of  the  host;  that  is  for  the  whites  alone.  The 
natives  come  in  and  pour  over  the  grounds,  looking  exceed- 
ingly picturesque  and  beautiful  in  their  Oriental  dress,  and 
crowned  with  flowers,  as  the  Greeks  of  old  time.  A  little 
later  the  whites  begin  to  arrive.  The  natives  loll  and 
Lunge  about  and  stare  at  them,  but  they  are  not  allowed, 
on  pain  of  arrest,  to  speak  to  them  or — as  the  Government 
calls  it — to  "  annoy  them."  Nor  could  the  whites,  except 
•a  few  of  the  men  in  official  positions,  understand  a  word  of 
their  many  languages,  if  they  did.  Refreshments  are 
served  from  the  house,  but  not  to  the  natives.  They  have 
to  buy  theirs,  at  little  native  stalls  at  the  gates.  There  is 
a  band  playing;  but  all  seats,  stands,  and  inclosures  are 
reserved  for  the  whites.  The  natives  can  stand  outside  or 
hang  over  the  rails  if  they  can  get  near  enough.  For  the 
rest,  wherever  seen,  however  occupied  or  idle,  standing, 
walking,  or  sitting,  the  native  is  hustled  out  of  the  way  by 
a  policeman,  should  a  white  or  whites  be  coming  down  the 
same  path  or  approaching  the  same  bench.  And  the 
whites  move  about  as  if  absolutely  unconscious  that  such  a 
thing  as  natives  existed.  He  looks  through  them  and  over 
them,  walks — by  the  aid  of  a  preceding  policeman — through 
them  and  over  them;  and,  in  fact,  the  natives  have  about 
the  same  place  in  the  fete  that  the  tropical  flowers  in  the 
grass  beneath  the  white  men's  feet  have;  which  flowers  they 


124  ANNA    LOMBARD. 

greatly  resemble,  lending  beauty  and  local  color  to  the 
gee  tie. 

On  Lieutenant  Blundell  and  myself,  the  commissioner's 
practical  aides-de-camp,  fell  the  burden  of  all  the  arrange- 
ments, decorations,  and  commissariat.  Anna  seemed  de- 
lighted at  the  idea,  and  showed  so  much  animation  that  all 
the  ennui  I  usually  felt  over  such  work  left  me,  and  I 
threw  myself  into  it  with  enthusiasm.  She  never  met  me 
now  without  asking  what  I  was  doing  for  the  fete  and  say- 
ing how  much  she  was  looking  forward  to  it.  On  one  of 
these  occasions,  her  motive  flashed  upon  me  suddenly  and 
my  heart  died  within  me. 

"  Is  Gaida  Khan  going  to  be  there?"  I  asked,  abruptly. 

A  flood  of  crimson  swept  over  her  face  as  she  looked 
down  and  murmured,  half-inaudibly: 

"  Yes." 

"  So  that  is  why  you  are  so  interested  in  the  fete !"  I 
said,  bitterly. 

"  Not  entirely,"  Anna  said,  hurriedly,  and  with  the 
deprecating  air  she  always  had  when  this  name  was  men- 
tioned, as  if  imploring  me  not  to  be  angry  wiUi  her. 
"  But  there  will  be  a  sword  dance  by  the  Pathans  and  he 
will  be  in  it.  It  will  bq  very  beautiful.  I  want  you  to 
see  it." 

"  I  ^m  aware  that  Gaida  is  very  handsome,"  I  said, 
coldly.  "  I  have  seen  him  once." 

This  man  and  the  horrible,  triangular  position  we  were 
in,  though  always  in  my  thoughts,  were  seldom  touched  on 
Between  us;  and  the  pain  of  hearing  her  speak  of  him  and 
in  this  eager  way  was,  to  a  certain  extent,  unfamiliar  and 
almost  overpowering. 

Anna  grew  pale  and  silent  as  she  always  did  when  the 
least  displeasure  crept  into  my  voice,  and  the  thought  shot 
through  me  that  she  ff-ared  me,  and  fear  is  the  road  to 
hate,  not  love.  With  an  effort  that  seemed  almost  beyond 
my  strength  I  crushed  back  the  anger  and  sense  of  injury 
and  said,  gently: 

"  Well,  Anna,  when  will  you  be  there?  I  shall  be  at 
your  service  all  the  evening  to  see  dances  and  everything 
olse.  Blundell  will  do  all  the  honors  overlooked  by  the 
commissioner." 

A  smile  of  confident  pleasure  broke  over  her  face  again. 

"  I  think  about  nine,"  she  said,  softly,  and  with  a  grate- 


AHNA    LOMBARD.  125 

ful  inflection  that  said  plainly  to  me,  "  Thank  you,  for  not 
being  angry." 

The  evening  of  the  fete,  that  was  to  begin  about  five  and 
continue  till  midnight,  was  exceptionally  lovely.  The 
breeze  from  the  sea  died  away,  and,  though  the  heat  was 
consequently  intense,  the  calm  of  earth  and  sky  in  their 
porfection  was  singularly  beautiful.  When  all  was  ready 
and  the  commissioner  had  thanked  me  for  the  special  serv- 
ice I  had  rendered  to  the  cause,  and  a  few  of  his  guests 
had  already  arrived,  I  strolled  away  to  the  lower  parts  of 
the  gardens,  leaving  him  and  Blundell  on  the  steps  of  the 
veranda  as  a  reception  committee.  The  sky  overhead 
gleamed  like  mother-of-pearl  with  rose  color.  The  lan- 
guid branches  of  the  palms,  steeped  in  gold,  drooped  mo- 
tionless in  the  still  air.  In  the  west  shone  already  a  planet 
with  silver  radiance,  and  the  moon  rose  slowly,  pale, 
ethereal,  a  transparent  disk  in  the  roseate  sky.  I  walked 
down  a  narrow  alley  between  masses  of  pomegranate-trees 
and  roses  and  hibiscus  and  rhododendron,  growing  all  over 
one  another,  and  stifling  one  another  and  fainting  in  one 
another's  embrace,  walked  away  from  the  direction  of  the 
bands  and  lost  myself  at  last  in  the  heavy  quiet  of  the  gar- 
den. I  wanted  to  find  a  little  rest  and  pull  myself  to- 
gether. A  dreadful  tiredness,  like  coma,  seemed  creeping 
over  me.  Nights  of  sleepless  pain  and  thoughts,  days  of 
anxiety  and  torment  were  beginning  to  tell.  I  felt  as  if 
the  store  of  vitality  I  had  been  drawing  and  living  on  was 
exhausted.  I  walked  on  slower  and  slower,  soothed,  un- 
consciously, by  the  perfect  tranquillity  around  me,  when 
suddenly  the  scent  of  sandal-wood  and  attar  of  roses  struck 
me,  and  I  raised  my  eyes  from  the  path,  expecting  to  see 
natives  near  me.  There  was  a  single  figure  only  a  short 
distance  from  me,  and  advancing  in  my  direction.  One 
glance  seemed  to  drive  all  the  blood  in  my  body  to  my 
heart,  and  there  it  seemed  held  and  freezing.  It  was 
Gaida  Khan.  He  was  not  in  such  rich  holiday  dress  as  the 
last  time  I  had  wen  him;  in  fact,  there  was  nothing  nota- 
bly festi^  about  it,  except  that  the  full,  white  linen  trou- 
sers were  brilliantly  white,  the  loose,  blue  tunic  he  wore 
over  them  seemed  new,  and  the  scarlet  turban  on  his  head 
Vas  of  silk  instead  of  cotton.  I  controlled  myself  suffi- 
ciently to  walk  calmly  on,  though  my  feet  almost  stopped 
and  seemed  rooted  to  the  ground  at  the  first  sight  of  him; 


*26  ANNA    LOMBARD. 

ijut  I  went  slowly  that  I  might  see  him  well  as  I  passed. 
He  advanced  without  changing  his  pace,  with  his  head  held 
high  on  its  superb  column  of  neck,  and  the  evening  light 
falling  softly  on  the  delicate  and  perfect  face.  He  camo 
up  to  me  and  passed,  glancing  at  me  full  as  he  did  so;  and 
it  seemed  to  me  he  raised  his  head  still  higher,  and  a  sus- 
picion of  an  arrogant  smile  replaced  the  exquisitely  sweet 
expression  that  was  natural  to  the  face.  For  a  moment 
our  eyes  met  across  the  rose  and  golden  light,  in  the  per- 
fect peace  and  stillness  of  the  garden.  We  looked  at  each 
other.  Two  men  who  represented  nearly  completely  the 
two  extremes  of  humanity;  between  whom  lay  a  gulf  as 
wide,  perhaps,  as  could  exist  between  two  creatures  of  the 
same  species — and  the  one  on  the  lower  side  was  the  one 
that  was  victorious  and  triumphant.  I,  rich  in  all  the 
world  values;  with  my  brain  crammed  with  all  sorts  of 
learning,  useful  and  useless;  accustomed  to  the  best  this 
world  can  offer.  He,  without  one  anna  or  a  hut;  unable 
to  read  or  write  or  understand  any  tongue  but  his  own  and 
a  few  words  of  another.  We,  the  rivals,  looked  at  each 
other. 

He  had  something  for  which  I  would  have  exchanged  all 
[  had.  He  was  the  envied,  the  fortunate,  the  rich.  He 
had  passed  me,  and  the  way  was  so  narrow  that  his  clothes 
brushed  me  and  the  scent  of  sandal-wood  flooded  me.  He 
was  taller  than  I,  though  I  stood  six  feet;  and  his  disdain- 
ful eyes  swept  over  me  contemptuously  from  beneath  the 
crimson  turban  as  he  went  by.  In  that  moment  all  the 
iBaxon  blood  rose  in  my  veins  and  seemed  to  be  living  fire. 
The  impulse  came  to  spring  at  his  throat  and  bear  him 
under  me  to  the  ground.  It  passed  before  me  in  a  flash : 
the  opportunity,  the  place,  the  quiet,  the  solitude;  the  cer- 
tainty, the  impunity  of  my  vengeance.  I  was  older  and, 
ioubtless,  stronger  than  he;  an  accomplished  athlete  and, 
besides,  had  the  strength  at  that  moment  of  mad  fury. 
He  was,  probably,  of  the  usual  weak,  native  constitution 
and  untrained.  A  short  struggle  and  I  could  leave  him 
strangled  in  the  narrow  way.  When  his  body  was  found, 
Who  could  know  or  prove  it  was  I  that  was  responsible? 

And  even  if  that  were  known,  the  slightest  excuse  of 
mine — an  insult  offered  to  me;  momentary  anger  on  my 
part,  leading  to  an  unfortunate  accident — how  easily  it 
would  be  accepted.  What  was  the  life  of  one  miserable 


ANHA    LOMBAED.  127 

native,  a  cletai-wattah,  a  man  who  walked  with  bare  feet 
in  the  dust  of  the  highway?  But  I  restrained  myself  and 
he  walked  by  unharmed.  Then  I  turned  and  looked  after 
him  as  he  continued  his  way  with  the  incomparable  maj- 
esty and  grace  of  movement  that  is  the  special  gift  of  the 
Pathan.  "With  eyes  dim  with  anger  I  followed  his  figure 
and  Kipling's  lines  went  dully  through  my  head : 

"  He  trod  the  ling  like  a  buck  in  spring, 
And  looked  like  a  lance  at  rest." 

I  paused  there  till  the  thicket  of  rose  and  magnolia  had 
closed  between  him  and  me.  Then  I  walked  forward,  feel- 
ing almost  blind  and,  suddenly,  dizzy,  sick,  and  hopeless. 

I  did  not  regret  in  the  least  that  I  had  let  Gaida  go  bj 
unharmed.  If  I  wished  for  his  death,  there  were  othel 
ways  of  accomplishing  it  then  by  a  personal  struggle.  The 
impulse  I  had  felt  had  been  merely  the  natural  physical 
impulse  of  jealousy  and  hatred.  I  did  not  wish  his  deathj 
that  is  to  say,  I  did  not  intend  to  bring  it  about.  I  had 
decided  that  long  ago;  and  nothing  in  the  world  is  more 
fatal  than  reversing  in  a  moment  of  anger,  or  any  similar 
madness,  the  decisions  we  have  arrived  at  in  cold  hours  of 
logical  thought.  If,  when  the  madness  comes,  you  can 
not  remember  your  reasons  or  your  logic;  if,  in  fact,  these 
then  seem  to  you  like  folly,  at  least  you  can  remember  you 
have  made  such  a  decision  and  adhere  to  it  simply  because 
you  have  made  it.  This  feeling  it  was  and  this  mechanical 
remembrance  that  had  allowed  Gaida  Khan  to  pass  by  me 
in  peace. 

I  found  a  gardener's  water-tank  beside  my  path,  and 
some  moss-covered  stones.  On  these  I  sat  down  and  buried 
my  head  in  my  hands  and  rested.  Yet  I  can  not  clain 
that  I  thought  much.  I  allowed  myself,  as  it  were,  t<~. 
drift  on  a  blind  stupor  of  fatigue  and  pain.  An  hour,  per. 
haps,  went  by,  and  I  knew  I  must  be  returning  to  my  post 
of  duty.  I  rose  and  turned  back  along  the  path  I  had 
come. 

When  I  had  retraced  my  steps  to  the  bungalow  the  air 
had  darkened,  the  rose  in  the  sky  had  changed  to  purple, 
and  the  stars  burst  forth  in  it.  Beneath,  among  the  blos- 
som-laden trees,  hung  countless  thousands  of  colored 
lamps  and  lanterns,  and  figures  began  to  pass  me  in  the 
narrow  paths.  The  commissioner's,  house  was  in  a  blaze 


128  AHNA    LOMBARD. 

of  light.  Light  poured  from  all  the  windows  and  from  the 
decorated  and  illuminated  veranda,  so  that  the  lawn  was 
bright  as  day. 

Throngs  of  people,  Europeans  and  natives,  covered  it, 
and  were  crowding  up  the  shallow,  white  steps  toward  the 
long  windows.  One  of  the  bands  was  playing,  and  laugh- 
ter and  voices  mingled  with  the  strains  of  music.  Servantf, 
flitted  here  and  there  with  trays  of  wine  and  ices  among1 
those  who  did  not  care  to  leave  the  freshness  of  the  garden 
for  the  house.  Groups  of  natives,  looking  like  animated 
Greek  statues  in  their  white  clothing  and  with  garlands  ol 
white  clematis  on  their  heads  and  round  their  throats,  lin- 
gered and  leaned  and  talked  and  gazed  toward  the  house 
while  carriages  dashing  up  to  the  lower  end  of  the  lawi 
deposited  every  moment  fresh  consignments  of  young  En- 
glish girls  in  white  silk  and  muslin,  and  young  men  in 
nineteenth-century  attire;  and  behind  the  white  corner  of 
tho  bungalow  roof  and  the  palms  the  great,  mellow., 
voluptuous  moon  climbed  steadily  and  looked  down  upon 
it  all.  Exactly  at  nine,  Anna  arrived.  I  was  waiting  o», 
the  veranda  to  receive  her.  Coming  into  the  strong  light; 
she  stepped  upon  the  terrace  looking  fair  and  fresh  as  one 
of  the  immortals. 

I  went  forward  to  greet  her,  and  I  felt  my  face  was  pale 
and  grave  and  there  was  a  pained  smile  on  my  lips.  1 
suffered  so  much  mental  pain  now  and  so  continually  that 
I  seemed  growing  old  under  the  strain  of  it.  Life  and  its. 
joyousness,  even  youth  and  youthful  impulses,  seemed 
dying  within  me.  But,  as  her  affianced  lover,  I  went  for- 
ward, as  a  hundred  eyes  were  turned  upon  us  in  the  brill- 
iant veranda,  and  welcomed  her  and  drew  her  arm 
through  mine.  She  looked  up  at  me  with  a  smile  full  of 
love  and  pleasure  that  all  those  eyes  could  see,  as  floods  of 
light  were  falling  on  her  fair  face  and  white-clothed  figure, 
and,  doubtless,  many  men  present  hated  me  as  one  su- 
premely blessed  and  favored. 

"  What  time  does  the  wonderful  dance  begin?"  I  asked, 
gently. 

"  About  a  quarter-past  nine,  I  think,"  she  answered, 
"  and  it  will  be  at  the  farther  side  of  the  gardens.  Those 
people  passing  down  the  lawn  are  going  now,  I  think. 
Come  with  me  round  the  house.  I  know  a  lovely  path 
down  the  gardens,  that  will  take  us  there." 


ANNA.    LOMBARD.  129 

There  was  a  general  stir  among  all  the  guests,  natives 
and  Europeans,  and  Anna  and  I  separated  from  the  gen- 
eral mass  and  went  round  to  the  back  of  the  bungalow, 
where,  as  she  said,  a  narrow  and  lovely  alley,  arched  com- 
pletely over  by  the  bending  cocoanut-palms,  opened  in 
front  of  us.  Here  and  there  the  moonlight  fell  through 
their  fan-like  branches  and  seemed  to  splash  like  molten 
silver  on  the  path  before  us.  In  one  of  these  irregular 
pools  of  light  Anna  slackened  her  footsteps  and  I  saw  her 
raise  her  face  and  look  at  me  steadily. 

"  You  looked  so  handsome,  Gerald,  this  evening,"  she 
breathed,  softly,  "  when  you  came  forward  on  the  terrace 
to  meet  me.  So  dark,  so  pale,  so  beautiful!  Kiss  me," 
she  added,  and  stopped  short  in  the  path. 

I  stopped  too,  and  took  her  wholly  in  my  arms  and 
kissed  her. 

"  Give  him  up  for  me,"  I  said  in  her  ear.  "  Am  I  not 
worth  it?" 

I  felt  her  bosom  strained  against  mine  heave  spasmodic- 
ally, and  her  arms  tremble  against  my  neck.  At  last  a 
choked  whisper  reached  me: 

"  Oh,  I  do  want  to,  you  know;  but,  somehow,  since  I 
have  given  myself  to  him — you  don't  understand,  perhaps, 
but  it  is  such  a  tie  for  a  woman." 

I  put  her  from  me  suddenly. 

"  Anna,  we  must  not  talk  of  these  things,"  I  said,  with 
a  suppressed  vehemence  that  made  her  shrink  from  me, 
"  if  you  want  me  to  remain  a  reasoning  being.  I  am 
strained  to  the  utmost  limit  as  it  is." 

We  walked  on  in  perfect  silence  through  one  cool,  fra- 
grant alley  after  another,  where  the  moonlight,  filtered 
through  the  palms,  softened  and  silvered  the  heavy-scented 
air,  till  we  arrived  in  the  open  again  and  the  crowds  of  fig- 
ures told  me  we  were  near  the  appointed  ground. 

When  we  reached  the  spot  I  saw  at  once  that  our  clever, 
little  commissioner  had  selected  and  arranged  it  with  his 
usual  incomparable  taste  in  such  things.  The  luxurious 
undergrowth,  the  long,  rank  grass  and  rampant  parasites 
and  blossoms,  had  all  been  cut  away  for  a  large,  circular 
space;  which  had  then  been  swept  clean  and  surrounded 
by  a  light  iron  railing,  about  three  feet  high.  Outside  this 
railing  a  grassy,  lawn-like  space  stretched  away  till  a  ring 
of  cocoauut-palms,  and  all  their  accompanying  under- 


130  ANNA    LOMBARD. 

growth  of  rose  and  pomegranate,  pressed  forward  again, 
making  the  natural,  verdant,  fragrant  wall.  Raised  on 
the  grassy  lawn,  facing  the  clean-swept  ring,  a  grand-stand 
came  into  view;  and  line  upon  line  of  chairs  in  it  were 
being  taken  up  as  we  approached.  On  the  opposite  side, 
the  Grenadier  band  had  taken  its  position;  while  natives 
and  English  pressed  up  all  round  the  circle  to  the  railings. 
It  was  as  light  here  as  at  noonday,  thousands  of  colored 
lamps  being  swung  in  long  strings  of  light  from  pole  to 
pole  above  our  heads,  and  the  roof  of  the  grand-stand  itself 
beingone  blaze  of  rose  and  gold. 

"Where  will  you  go?"  I  asked  Anna,  as  we  came  up. 

"  Oh,  to  our  seats  in  the  stand,"  she  replied,  indifferent- 
ly, as  if  she  had  no  other  possible  interest  in  or  connection 
with  the  spectacle  than  the  merest  onlooker.  No  one, 
certainly,  could  have  dreamed,  as  she  quietly  descended  the 
crowded  stand  to  its  two  best  seats,  reserved  for  her  in  the 
very  front,  and  calmly  crushed  the  white  silk  of  her  cos- 
tume into  their  narrow  limits  and  took  her  place  with  a 
certain  cold  grace  that  was  all  her  own,  that  this  fair- 
skinned,  light-haired  Saxon  girl — so  thoroughly  English  in 
every  look  and  gesture,  and  with,  apparently,  all  the  cold 
pride  of  the  English — had  come  to  see  her  husband  dance 
nis  barbaric  dance  there  in  the  dust  before  us.  I  felt  a 
bitter  pain  as  I  watched  her  and  took  my  place  beside  her, 
and  yet  I  was  glad  in  a  sort  of  bitter  way.  I  carried  a 
wound — a  raw,  terrible  wound — in  my  breast;  but,  if  she 
could  prevent,  none  should  ever  know  it,  none  of  those 
eyes  round  us  should  peer  delightedly  into  its  bleeding  re- 
eessss. 

The  stand  was  quite  full,  packed  from  end  to  end  now, 
and  might  itself  have  been  some  beautiful  tropical  flower, 
it  so  glowed  with  silk  and  bright  colors  and  brilliant, 
laughing  faces.  The  band  opposite  began  to  play,  and 
trays  of  sweetmeats,  ices,  and  champagne  were  brought  and 
passed  along  in  front  of  the  tiers  of  seats.  Anna  would 
not  take  anything,  and,  looking  at  her  closely,  I  saw  that 
though  the  center  of  her  lips  was  of  the  usual  bright  rose, 
the  corners  were  white  and  burned-looking.  The  commis- 
sioner and  Bundell  had  their  seats  in  the  tier  directly  above 
and  behind  ours,  and  toward  the  half-hour  past  nine  he 
bent  down  to  Anna  and  murmured : 

"Here  they  are." 


ANNA    LOMBARD.  131 

We  looked  toward  the  ring.  The  band  had  ceased  its 
English  airs,  and  in  perfect  silence  forty  Pathans,  each 
with  a  flashing,  naked  swoid  three  and  a  half  feet  long  and 
carved  slightly  at  the  point  like  a  cimeter,  walked  slowly 
into  the  circle.  They  were  all  of  great  and  uniform 
height,  dressed  entirely  in  white,  full  Mohammedan  trou- 
sers, straight  tunic  over  to  the  middle  of  the  thigh,  with 
loose,  wide-open,  falling  sleeves;  on  their  heads,  surmount- 
ing their  magnificent  faces,  was  wound  to  the  height  of  a 
foot,  perhaps,  a  snow-white  turban. 

A  little  shiver  and  flutter  passed  in  a  ripple  over  the 
stand.  Whatever  the  men  may  have  thought  of  the 
"  dogs  "  and  "  pigs  "  of  natives  before  them,  the  women 
were  not  and  could  not  be  quite  unmoved  by  the  sudden 
display,  for  their  benefit,  of  this  male  beauty,  this  physical 
perfection.  Fair,  fluffy  heads  leaned  suddenly  together, 
and  whispers  were  exchanged  behind  fans.  "  Aren't  they 
handsome!"  "Beautiful!"  "Just  like  statues,"  ran  in 
feminine  murmurs  from  seat  to  seat.  The  Pathans  ad- 
vanced slowly  till  they  all  faced  the  stand,  and  the  full 
glare  of  the  rosy,  yellow  light  fell  on  them;  showing  to  us 
all  distinctly  the  splendid  foreheads  of  pale,  burnished 
bronze;  the  narrow,  delicate,  sweeping  eyebrows  over  the 
lustrous,  flashing,  midnight  eyes;  the  perfectly  modeled 
noses  with  the  carved,  proud  nostrils;  the  firm,  cruel,  yet 
exquisite  mouths  and  beautiful  chins. 

They  looked  up  at  the  eager,  surprised,  admiring  white 
faces  above  them,  salaamed  and  smiled.  As  before  I  had 
noticed  with  Gaida,  the  smile  is  the  last  touch  of  the  Cre- 
ator's hand  upon  their  marvelous  faces  of  beauty.  The 
cruel,  beautiful  lines  of  the  lips  dissolve,  the  lips  part  from 
even  teeth  of  flashing  pearl,  and  a  sweetness  that  can  only 
be  faintly  represented  by  saying  "  as  of  heaven  "  is  lent  to 
the  irresistible  countenances.  A  little  shiver  of  delight 
swept  over  the  women  as  that  smile,  like  sunlight  on  a 
brook,  passed  over  the  faces  of  the  Pathans.  And  I,  sit- 
ting in  mv  place,  thought  wonderingly,  "  How  strange 
and  deceitful  Nature  is  at  times!  Who  could  believe  that 
these  men  are  the  most  bloodthirsty,  perhaps  the  most 
fiendishly  cruel,  and  certainly  the  most  depraved  and 
vicious  race  of  the  earth?"  and  I  passed  my  hand  over  my 
eyes  for  a  moment  to  shut  out  those  god-like  forms  and 
faces,  while  I  thought  of  all  I  had  heard  and  read  of  them 


132  ANNA    LOMBARD. 

— stories  that  would  almost  sear  the  paper  they  were  writ- 
ten on,  and  scorch  out  Saxon  eyes  with  shame  to  read. 
And  to  think  that  she — this  girl  beside  me,  whose  slen- 
der, delicate,  white  fingers  held  my  soul  and  brain  and 
heart  in  their  hold,  who  controlled  the  very  rush  of  blood 
through  my  veins;  she,  with  all  her  delicacy  and  refine- 
ment of  thought  and  feeling,  was  in  the  hands  of  one  of 
these!  I  turned  to  her  now  with  all  this  savage  pain  con- 
fusing my  thoughts,  and,  altering  some  of  them  enough  to 
give  her  sharp  senses  the  clew  to  them  all,  I  said  some- 
thing about  the  men  before  us  being  mere  devils;  and  she 
turned  her  face  fully  to  me,  meeting  my  gaze  with  her  eyes 
full  of  cool,  insolent  courage.  It  was  the  same  look  that 
shone  in  her  father's  face  when  he  led  his  men  up  the  de- 
files of  death  in  the  Border  campaigns;  the  same  look  that 
shines  in  the  eyes  of  the  Saxon  the  world  over,  and  makes 
him  what  he  is — the  world's  master. 

"  I  am  not  afraid,"  she  said,  simply,  answering  all  she 
knew  was  in  my  thoughts;  and  she  turned  to  look  down  to 
the  arena  again. 

I  followed  her  eyes  and  at  that  instant  the  dance  com- 
menced. The  Pathans  had  all  fallen  into  line,  one  behind 
the  other,  forming  a  circle  the  entire  circumference  of  the 
inclosure.  At  the  first  crash  of  the  opening  chord  of 
music,  forty  flashing  swords  leaped  into  the  air  and  were 
whirled,  each  one  gleaming,  round  the  head  of  each  white- 
robed  Pathan  as  he  plunged  forward,  breaking  into  a  wild, 
musical  chant  in  unison  with  the  music.  Now,  I  do  not 
know  what  step  was  used  in  that  dance,  nor  can  I  possibly 
conceive  any  European  foot  making  one  like  it.  I  can 
only  say  that  the  Pathans  moved  round  in  that  perfect 
circle,  of  which  the  proportions  never  varied,  with  marvel- 
ous rapidity,  the  broad  blades  of  their  swords  playing  like 
lightning  above  their  heads  the  whole  time,  and  their  gait 
in  the  dance  was  the  gait  of  the  Pathan  when  he  walks, 
somewhat  rolling  and  sensuous,  but  when  fitted  to  such 
forms  of  extreme  grace  and  symmetry,  one  that  reaches 
the  climax  of  beauty  in  motion. 

Their  curious,  swaying  movement  from  side  to  side 
seemed  to  bring  into  play  every  one  of  the  muscles  of  those 
shapely  forms.  The  powerful  shoulders  and  flanks,  the 
line  of  the  spine,  the  somewhat  too-developed  muscles  of 
the  hip  and  waist,  all  were  moving;  and  their  play  could 


ANNA    LOMBARD.  133 

be  seen  distinctly  under  the  one  surface  of  fine  white  linen 
over  them. 

As  the  dancers  swung  around  the  ring,  it  was  a  sensu- 
ously beautiful  sight;  and,  as  such  sights  are  generally  ren- 
dered by  women  for  the  benefit — or  otherwise — of  men,  I 
glanced  round  with  a  faint  feeling  of  amusement,  question- 
ing in  my  mind  what  the  women  thought  of  this  reversing 
of  the  order  of  things,  in  their  favor.  The  stand  was  main- 
ly filled  by  women,  and  that  they  were  affected  by  the 
unexpectedness  and  beauty  of  the  scene  before  them  and 
moved  by  the  sudden  call  it  made  on  the  senses,  was  evi- 
dent. Their  faces,  as  they  leaned  forward,  were  pale;  and 
a  dilated  eye,  the  slight,  nervous  movement  of  a  fan,  the 
parted  lips  or  sudden  flush  of  color  on  the  cheeks  told  the 
emotions  that  the  otherwise  coldly  well-bred  crowd  failed 
to  betray.  I  brought  my  eyes  back  and  they  rested  on 
Anna.  She  was  pale,  too;  and  I  saw  her  nostril  quiver, 
dilate,  and  beat  nervously.  But  for  that,  she  was  motion- 
less, calm  as  a  statue. 

There  was  nothing,  one  might  say,  voluntarily  sensuous 
or  sensual  in  the  spectacle.  The  dance  was  not  a  licen- 
tious, but  a  martial  one;  and  the  management  of  the 
swords  that  they  kept  whirling  and  flashing  in  horizontal 
and  vertical  circles  round  them,  was  magnificent. 

There  was  perfect  order  and  concert  in  each  movement 
in  spite  of  their  intense  rapidity;  for  each  man  was  so 
closely  following  the  other  that  the  slightest  misstep, 
stumble,  or  lagging  of  the  pace  on  any  one's  part  must 
have  resulted  in  a  fatal  accident.  Each  whirling  sword 
was  timed  to  a  second  to  rise  and  descend,  and  each  only 
cleared  by  an  inch  or  so  the  white-turbaned  head  directly 
in  front  of  it,  and  its  backward  whirl  over  each  man's  head 
as  they  swept  triumphantly  round  their  circle  cleared  by 
hardly  so  much  the  brow  of  the  man  behind  him.  It  was 
a  splendid,  inspiring  sight;  breathing  of  courage  and 
bravery,  dexterity  and  skill,  and  the  madness  and  triumph 
of  victory.  And  what  of  sensual  element  there  was  in  it 
came  involuntarily  and  unavoidably  from  the  wonderful 
physical  beauty  displayed,  and  the  sumptuousness  of  Ori- 
ental form  and  outline,  not  from  studied  trick  and  gest- 
ures as  in  the  Nautches. 

I  looked  on  fascinated,  and  drew  my  breath  still  with  a 
Curious  feeling  each  tune  that  Gajda  passed,  with  his 


134  ANNA    LOMBARD. 

flung  upward  on  its  column  of  bronze  throat,  beneath  its 
white  turban,  and  between  a  sword  and  a  sword. 

And  as  the  music  grew  louder  and  faster  and  the  danoe 
<nore  abandoned  and  the  encircling  swords  more  dangerous 
in  those  flying,  glistening  circles,  the  faces  of  even  the 
quiet  British  officers  flushed  up  with  animation.  On 
Anna's  left  sat  the  colonel  of  the  regiment  to  which  most 
of  the  dancers  belonged;  for,  with  the  exception  of  Gaida 
and  a  few  others,  chosen  for  their  personal  beauty  and 
skill,  the  men  before  us  were  all  soldiers  enrolled  in  one 
of  the  Pathan  regiments  and  officered  by  Englishmen  who 
are  able  to  turn  the  splendid  fighting  qualities  of  these 
men,  their  love  of  danger  and  death  in  battle,  their  reck- 
less courage,  their  very  appetite  for  blood,  to  the  best  ac- 
count. This  old  colonel,  who  had  mixed  with  Pathans, 
studied  and  commanded  them  for  twenty  years,  gazed 
down  now  at  his  men  with  flushing  face  and  queerly  glit- 
tering eyes.  They  were  his  children,  practically,  and  he 
had  seen  their  irresistible  rush  in  battle,  their  fierce  onsets, 
their  mute,  smiling  courage,  their  unmurmuring  deaths; 
until,  by  the  side  of  these  things,  their  horrible  lives,  when 
not  in  war,  and  unspeakable  vices  seemed  to  grow  small 
to  his  almost  parental  eye. 

Anna  leaned  toward  him  and  murmured: 

"  What  splendid  fellows,  colonel.  Are  you  not  proud 
of  them?" 

"  I  am!  I  am!"  he  returned,  with  beaming  eyes,  and 
raised  his  hands  to  clap  them  loudly. 

This  was  the  signal,  and  a  perfect  storm  of  applause 
broke  from  the  crowded  stand.  At  the  same  moment  the 
music  ceased,  as  it  had  begun,  with  one  sudden  crash;  and 
on  the  instant  the  almost  flying  forms  became  motionless 
and  the  lifted  swords  made  an  arrested  wave  of  gleaming 
light  round  the  ring.  Then  the  swords  were  lowered. 
The  Pathans  smiled  and  salaamed  as  before,  and  filed 
silently — a  procession  of  kings  one  would  have  said — out 
of  the  inclosure. 

The  stand  full  of  whites  began  to  flutter  and  whisper 
and  laugh,  as  they  rustled  out  of  the  seats;  and  Anna  and  I 
very  slowly  followed  in  silence.  Almost  without  a  word 
we  walked  through  the  grounds  and  entered  her  carriage. 
When  we  arrived  at  the  house,  the  general  alighted  first 


ANNA    LOMBARD.  135 

and  went  up  into  the  veranda,  and  we  were  left  alone  at 
the  foot  of  the  steps,  while  the  carriage  drove  away. 

"  You  will  receive  him  to-night?"  I  said  in  a  low  voice. 

"  I  suppose  so,"  she  said,  raising  her  hand  to  her  lips, 
which  parted  in  a  little,  nervous  yawn;  "  he  is  my  hus- 
band." 

My  brain  seemed  scorching  as  if  with  fire. 

"  And  what  am  I?"  I  asked,  in  desperation,  standing 
so  as  to  bar  her  farther  path. 

She  stood  still  and  looked  up  at  me.  Then  she  opened 
her  arms  to  me  tenderly. 

"  You  are  my  fiance  ;  so  we  must  kiss  and  say  good- 
night." 

I  turned  from  her  in  a  silence  too  bitter  for  words;  felt, 
rather  than  saw,  that  her  arms  dropped  to  her  sides,  and 
that  she,  too,  turned  and  went  into  the  house. 

I  walked  away  toward  my  own  bungalow,  feeling  that  I 
had  drunk  up  the  draught  of  life;  that  my  mouth  was  full 
of  bitter  lees  and  dregs;  and  that  the  cup  was  empty. 

When  I  reached  the  house  I  went  straight  to  my  room, 
undressed,  and  threw  myself  on  the  bed.  I  felt  the  round 
patch  of  burning  fire,  that  foretells  Indian  fever,  kindled  in 
both  palms,  and  I  knew  that  in  an  hour  or  two  I  should  be 
mercifully  oblivious  for  a  time  of  all  surrounding  things. 
My  days  and  sleepless  nights  of  suffering,  capped  by  this 
terrible  evening,  the  mental  fever  in  which  I  had  been  liv- 
ing so  long,  had  culminated  at  last  in  physical  fever.  My 
finger-tips  were  still  of  normal  temperature,  and  doubling 
them  into  my  hands  I  felt  the  little  fire  growing  in  the 
palms  and  extending  its  circle  every  minute.  I  felt  chilly 
aad  languid,  with  intense  pain  in  the  back;  and  I  drew  a 
thick,  soft  blanket  all  over  me,  though  the  thermometer 
marked  ninety-six  degrees.  And  then  I  lay  still,  dreamily 
giving  myself  over  to  that  strange  sensation  of  growing 
heat  and  languor,  that  intense  fiery  stupor  creeping  in- 
sidiously all  over  me,  and  melting  away  one's  mental  feel- 
ings, perceptions,  and  pains,  as  in  a  natural  crucible.  I  lay 
still,  sinking  deeper  and  deeper  into  a  sort  of  heat  coma, 
in  which  I  seemed  wrapped  round  and  round  with  flames — 
flames  that  did  not  burn,  but  only  heated — heated  to  a 
point  where  bones  and  limbs  and  brains  were  all  fused  to- 
gether, and  one  was  nothing  any  longer  bub  an  inert  mass 
pf  dreamy  heatt 


136  ANNA    LOMBARD. 

Then  came  a  blank  of  unconsciousness,  and  my  next 
memory  is  that  I  was  struggling  like  a  madman,  at  the 
open  window,  with  my  trembling  Afghan  bearers;  and  some 
one,  that  they  afterward  told  me  was  myself,  was  scream- 
ing with  a  queer  sort  of  laughter  that  rang  out  over  the 
quiet,  moonlit  compound.  After  a  little  while  I  was  back 
in  bed  again  with  some  one  holding  me  down  by  both  arms; 
and  the  doctor  was  there  beside  the  bed,  with  a  wine-glass 
in  his  hand.  I  knew  it  was  the  doctor,  for  1  remembered 
his  long  Roman  nose,  and  now — so  funny ! — his  nose  had 
grown  so  long  it  reached  out  as  far  as  the  bed,  and  I  tried 
to  wrench  my  hand  loose  from  the  bearer's  hold,  because  I 
knew  I  was  expected  to  shake  hands  with  it.  Then  he  put 
the  wine-glass  down  to  my  lips,  and  I  seized  the  rim  with 
my  teeth  and  bit  a  piece  out  of  it.  Glass  is  a  queer  food 
to  give  a  sick  man.  And  then  a  stream  of  icy  liquid 
splashed  all  over  my  face  and  throat,  and  I  fought  desper- 
ately because  the  icy  drops  seemed  killing  me.  Then  they 
bound  me  down  to  the  charpoy  with  cloths,  arid  enormous 
hands  came  down  on  my  face  and  held  my  mouth  open, 
and  something  went  cold  and  freezing  down  my  throat, 
and  I  twisted  and  strained  and  wrenched,  and  there  was  a 
loud  creaking,  and  I  heard  a  voice  saying,  far  off  in  the  dis- 
tance— I  think  it  was  at  the  end  of  the  world: 

"  He  will  break  up  the  bed." 

And  there  was  pain  at  my  wrists  and  ankles.  They  came 
arid  sawed  at  them  with  red-hot  saws,  and  I  screamed  and 
twisted  and  they  sawed  the  faster;  and  then  there  was 
black,  black  night,  and  nothing  more. 

In  the  morning  I  opened  my  eyes.  There  were  two  serv- 
ants by  the  bed  and  the  doctor  sitting  beside  me.  I  felt 
very  quiet  and  very  weak.  I  stretched  out  my  hand  and 
touched  the  chair  beside  me.  It  felt  warm.  Then  I  knew 
the  fever  had  left  me.  I  looked  at  the  doctor  and  smiled. 

"  You  had  a  pretty  sharp  attack  last  night,"  he  ob- 
served, "  and,  by  Jove!  what  strength  you  have!  I  never 
recognized  fully  your  splendid  physique  until  now." 

"  Thank  you,  doctor,"  I  returned,  weakly;  "  I  am 
afraid  it  was  rather  troublesome  than  otherwise  last  night," 
Then,  as  a  thought  of  fear  suddenly  struck  me,  I  added, 
"  Was  I  delirious?" 

"  Delirious!"  exclaimed  the  doctor,  "  well,  I  should 
rather  think  so.  First  you  tried  to  jump  out  of  the  win- 


ANNA    LOMBARD.  137 

dow,  then  you  bit  up  a  wine-glass,  then  you  tried  to  break 
down  the  bed,  screaming  all  the  time.  \Ve  had  a  lively 
time  with  you,  I  can  assure  you." 

"  What  did  I  say  in  my  delirium?"  I  asked,  paling. 
Good  God!  Suppose  I  had  betrayed  Anna's  secret! 

"  Oh,  nothing  coherent  at  all.  You  were  past  that. 
Don't  be  alarmed,  my  boy,  you  have  not  given  yourself 
away.  You  just  shrieked  like  a  maniac  and  strained  so 
when  we  bound  you,  I  thought  you'd  break  your  wrists." 

I  glanced  at  my  wrists.  They  were  livid  and  swollen 
double.  Then  I  closed  my  eyes.  How  inestimably  thank- 
ful I  was  that  I  had  uttered  nothing  about  her. 

Then  I  was  given  some  beef-tea  and  left  to  myself,  cov- 
ered up  with  blankets:  and  I  sunk  into  a  long,  restful  coma. 

I  was  roused  toward  noon.  My  bearer  stood  by  my  bed- 
side with  a  great  bunch  of  white  roses  on  a  salver  and  a 
card. 

"  The  Miss  Sahib  Lombard  was  here  and  would  so  much 
like  to  see  the  sahib,"  said  the  servant. 

I  was  too  weak  to  lift  the  flowers;  but  I  motioned  the 
servant  to  set  the  tray,  card,  and  flowers  on  the  bed,  and 
said  I  would  see  her. 

I  glanced  round  the  room.  Like  most  Indian  rooms,  it 
was  large,  with  an  infinity  of  windows,  all  standing  open 
to  the  fresh  Kalatu  breeze,  and  more  like  a  sitting-room 
than  a  bedroom.  In  fact,  my  one  narrow,  wooden-frame 
charpoy  was  the  only  thing  in  it  that  suggested  a  sleeping- 
room.  My  bearer  closed  the  doors  into  my  bath-room  and 
dressing-room,  drew  an  easy-chair  to  the  side  of  the  bed 
and  retired. 

I  watched  the  door  by  which  she  would  enter,  and  in  a 
few  seconds  she  came  in.  In  white,  and  with  a  white 
sailor  hat  on  her  bright  hair  and  a  faint,  pale  rose  glow  on 
her  cool,  white  skin,  she  looked,  as  usual,  a  type  of  the 
morning. 

She  stopped  short  at  the  door  with  a  look  of  dismay.  I 
suppose  I  may  have  had  a  ghastly  appearance,  after  the 
efforts  of  the  previous  night.  Then  she  advanced,  almost 
running,  and,  stooping  over  the  bed,  would  have  kissed 
me;  but  I  put  both  my  hands  on  her  chest  and  held  her 
from  me. 

"  Did  you  receive  him  last  night?"  I  asked,  looking  up 


138  ANNA    LOMBARD. 

at  her.  And  I  felt  the  fever  beginning  to  awake  in  my 
veins  again. 

"  Yes." 

"  Then  don't  kiss  me.  Your  kisses  are  loathsome  to 
me,"  and  I  turned  my  head  away  from  her  on  the  pillow. 

She  drew  back  as  if  my  hands  had  been  daggers  that 
stabbed  her  breast,  and  sat  down  in  silence  in  the  chair 
close  by  me.  There  was  silence,  and  I  felt  the  excitement, 
resentment,  anger,  grief,  and  sorrow  that  her  presence 
caused  in  me,  rushing  through  me  and  relighting  the  de- 
vouring fever  in  every  tissue.  I  turned  my  head  to  look 
at  her,  after  a  minute.  She  was  sitting  silently  gazing  at 
me  with  wide-open,  pathetic  eyes,  and  great  tears  were 
forming  in  them  and  overflowing  and  pouring  down  the 
long,  black  lashes. 

I  stretched  out  my  hand  a  little  nearer  to  her  on  the 
coverlet. 

"  Forgive  my  violence,"  I  said,  gently.  "  I  was  like  a 
madman  last  night,  and  my  brain  has  not  recovered  its 
usual  balance  yet." 

She  ungloved  one  white  hand  and  laid  it  over  mine. 

"  I  heard  you  were  very  ill,"  she  said  in  a  trembling 
voice. 

"  No,  not  very  ill,"  I  murmured,  turning  my  head  rest- 
lessly on  the  pillow — for  a  furious  pain  was  beginning 
there.  "  Only  a  little  Indian  fever — and  other  kinds." 

Anna  did  not  answer;  she  only  sat  and  cried  more. 

"  Don't  cry,"  I  said,  "  that  does  not  alter  things." 

Then  I  closed  my  eyes.  The  fever  had  taken  hold  of 
my  head  and  it  was  being  held  in  a  vise  of  steel,  while  red- 
hotpincers  tore  slowly  at  the  brain-tissues. 

When  I  opened  my  eyes  again  I  saw  the  sunlight  had 
shifted  its  position  in  the  room,  and  I  knew  an  hour  or 
more  must  have  passed.  Anna  still  sat  by  me,  holding  my 
hand  and  still  crying;  only  now  the  fair  skin  was  colored 
red  with  tears,  the  blue  eyes  were  lost  in  a  red  mist  and 
had  dark,  purple  patches  round  their  lids. 

"  Find  the  doctor  and  tell  him  to  give  me  more  anti- 
febrine,"  I  muttered,  "  and  then  go.  Don't  sit  here  and 
cry,  spoiling  your  face." 

Whether  she  went  or  stayed,  I  don't  know.  The  rest  of 
that  day  and  night  is  a  blur  to  me.  The  next  clear  point 
to  me  was  the  following  morning,  when  I  was  calm 


ANNA    LOMBARD.  139 

out  of  pain  and  I  saw  the  doctor's  face  again  above  my 
bed.  It  was  much  graver  than  on  the  previous  morning — 
in  fact,  I  laughed  a  little  as  I  saw  it.  It  reminded  me  of  a 
London  undertaker. 

"  You  have  been  so  much  worse  than  I  anticipated,"  I 
heard  him  saying  after  a  minute,  "  I  think  change  of  air 
is  imperative.  You  seemed  to  grow  suddenly  worse  yes- 
terday after  Miss  Lombard's  visit,  and  you  raved  terribly 
in  the  night." 

Again  that  fear!  What  was  he  saying?  Change  of  air? 
Go  away!  Certainly!  Yes,  that  was  it.  Go  away,  before 
I  had  betrayed  Anna.  Go  away  among  strangers,  where 
what  I  said  would  not  matter. 

"  Yes,  doctor,  yes,  I  think  so.  Get  me  away.  What 
did  I  say  last  night?" 

"  I  really  don't  know,"  returned  the  doctor,  rather 
crossly,  I  thought.  "  I  don't  pay  any  heed  to  fever  pa- 
tients' rambling;  but  you  mentioned  Miss  Lombard's  name 
a  great  many  times."" 

It  was  time  to  go!  I  started  put  of  bed  and  stood  up- 
right for  a  second.  Then  I  fell  in  a  heap,  and  the  doctor 
gathered  me  up  and  put  me  into  a  chair. 

"  You  are  very,  very  weak,"  he  said.  "  I  don't  think 
you  can  go  at  present." 

"  I  tell  you  I  am  going  to-day.  The  bearer  can  carry 
me  to  the  carriage,  if  I  can't  walk.  Help  me  get  dressed, 
doctor,  and  tell  the  men  to  put  up  some  things  for  me. 
The  commissioner  will  give  me  a  fortnight's  leave,  I  know. 
Then  you  put  me  on  a  train  for  the  hills.  Get  me  away, 
doctor,  or  I'll  die  on  your  hands;  I  will,  indeed,  and  be  a 
lasting  discredit  to  you!" 

The  doctor  looked  very  grave,  and  felt  my  hand. 

"  You  have  no  fever  now,"  he  said,  doubtfully,  "  but 
you  are  so  deplorably  weak.  Where  do  you  intend  to  go?" 

«  Oh— to  Peshawur." 

"  Why  take  such  a  long  trip  as  that?  I  would  sug- 
gest—"" 

"  No,"  I  interrupted,  angrily,  "  I  am  going  to  Pesha- 
wur. Call  in  my  servants.  Let  me  see — that  black  trunk 
— yes,  that  will  do.  Now,  doctor,  just  hand  me  my  socks. 
I  can't  get  up  for  them." 

I  was  intensely  weak  and  most  anxious  to  use  all  my 
mental  faculties  while  they  were  clear.  I  knew  that  even- 


140  AHNA    LOMBARD. 

ing  would  bring  back  the  fever  and  incapacity;  bat  then, 
if  I  were  on  the  train,  without  a  soul  to  near  my  ravings, 
it  would  not  matter.  And  Peshawur!  Yes,  that  idea 
fascinated  me.  I  would  go  up  to  the  capital  of  the  Pathans, 
to  Gaida's  birth-place,  and  learn  something  of  the  won- 
derful race — learn  something  of  him,  too,  perhaps.  I 
began  feverishly  to  pull  on  my  socks.  My  fingers  trem- 
bled and  my  bones  cracked  loudly  as  the  fever  had  licked 
up  the  oil  in  their  sockets.  Everything  was  intense  fatigue, 
but  my  mind  urged  me  on  and  kept  me  up  to  my  work. 
I  could  rest  on  the  train.  Once  on  the  train  I  could  lie 
and  lie,  and  rest  and  rest,  until  they  picked  me  up  and 
carried  me  out  at  the  other  end.  But  now  I  must  work. 
The  doctor  had  left  me  for  a  few  minutes,  and  I  had  to 
dress  myself  as  well  as  I  could,  and  get  about  the  room  bv 
clinging  on  to  the  furniture.  Then  he  came  back,  bring- 
ing my  butler  and  bearer,  and  they  packed  my  trunk,  and 
I  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  cliarpoy  with  a  brain  rocking 
queerly — as  it  does  after  fever,  as  if  a  seesaw  were  in  your 
head — and  my  vision  all  distorted.  But  I  managed  to  write 
a  check  for  the  butler,  who  would  take  all  the  tickets  and 
would  want  money  for  the  journey,  and  one  for  the  doctor, 
and  a  note  to  Anna,  and  one  to  the  commissioner.  The 
end  of  it  all  was,  at  five  o'clock  that  evening,  in  a  giddy 
mist  of  pain,  I  was  put  on  the  train,  in  a  private  compart, 
ment  with  my  two  servants,  and  shipped  up  to  Peshawur. 
/  _^_^_ 

CHAPTER   VI. 

FOE  weeks  I  lay  ill  at  Peshawur.  Simple  Indian  fever 
would  have  given  way  quickly  and  easily  to  the  keen,  light 
air  of  the  hills;  but  no  cool  winds  nor  mountain  air  could 
sweep  away  in  a  day  or  two  the  ravages  of  those  long,  terri- 
ble nights  of  mental  anguish,  that  long  strain  of  anxiety 
and  restless  passion  that  had  been  put  upon  my  brain.  Days 
without  food  and  nights  without  sleep,  Nature  deeply  re- 
sents; and  at  last,  if  you  continue  that  treatment  of  her, 
she  strikes  you  down  in  a  passion — as  she  did  me. 

My  servants  had  secured  a  good  position  for  my  bunga- 
low; and  from  the  sick-room,  in  which  I  lay  through  the 
long,  fever-stricken  days  and  nights,  I  could  see,  without 
raising  my  head  from  the  pillow,  the  light,  turquoise  sky 
and  the  deep  blue  Hues  of  the  hills.  It  was  rather  pleas- 


AKKA    LOMBARD.  141 

ant,  rather  a  relief  to  me,  this  intense  physical  weakness, 
in  which  the  brain  ceases  to  bother  one  with  its  ideas  and 
pictures,  its  thoughts  and  desires.  This  bodily  preoccupa- 
tion with  bodily  pain  and  sufferings  swept  one's  brain 
clear  and  left  it  blank,  like  a  little  child's.  After  hours 
of  delirium  and  fever,  there  came  long  hours  of  blank, 
quiet  weakness;  in  which  I  lay — content  to  be  without  sen- 
sation of  any  sort — gazing  out  through  the  open  jilmils 
into  the  clear,  light,  placid  air  beyond.  Then  I  slowly 
began  to  get  better;  and  I  almost  dreaded  recovery.  Re- 
covery meant  taking  up  again  the  burden  of  responsibility 
and  anxiety  that  the  utter  helplessness  of  disease  slips  from 
one's  shoulders.  I  gained  strength  slowly  each  day;  and  I 
knew  that  with  my  strength  would  come  back  desires  and 
longings  and  hopes  and  cares  without  end. 

In  all  this  time  I  heard  constantly  from  Anna,  and  her 
letters  had  always  the  same  burden:  her  love  for  myself, 
her  gratitude,  her  devotion,  and  her  piteous  longing  to 
be  free  from  "  her  bondage,"  as  she  called  it.  But  it  was 
a  bondage  that  none  could  free  her  from;  and  no  one  could 
understand  that  better  than  I.  Let  there  be  no  misunder- 
standing here.  It  was  Anna's  own  love  that  held  her 
captive.  She  wished  to  crush  out  that  love,  to  annihilate 
it,  perhaps;  but  she  could  not;  and  no  human  aid  could 
help  her.  As  the  drunkard  longs  to  kill  the  desire  for 
drink,  yet  goes  on  drinking;  so  she  might  wish  to  kill  her 
love,  yet  she  continued  loving.  Had  the  bondage  been 
any  other  than  this;  had  she  been  tied  to  this  man  by  the 
tie  of  marriage  without  love,  I  would  and  could,  possibly, 
have  freed  her.  But  in  this  case,  since  her  love  was  the 
disease  and  her  captivity  but,  as  it  were,  the  symptom,  it 
was  useless  to  attack  the  latter  and  set  her  free  until  the 
disease  itself,  torn  from  its  roots,  was  eradicated.  Forci- 
ble separation  from  Gaida  would  not  free  her;  it  would 
simply  martyrize  and  idealize  him  in  her  thoughts,  and  she 
would  be  bound  to  him  by  the  chains  of  a  thousand  memo- 
ries; and  for  the  one  who  caused  that  separation  she  would 
feel  nothing  but  resentment.  Even  if  she  gave  herself  to 
me,  it  would  be  with  that  memory  of  him  standing  like  a 
shield  between  us.  And  that  should  not  be.  No,  the  ter- 
rible passion  must  be  killed  or  die;  and  until  that  time  came 
about  she  could  not  be  released.  And  I,  forced  to  remain 
passive,  yet  was  comforted,  knowing  that  one  man  had  the 


ANNA -LOMBARD. 

power  to  kill  it;  and,  he,  probably,  was  working  surely  to 
that  end — and  that  man  was  Gaida  himself. 

I  could  not  answer  her  letters  fully;  but  I  sent  her  little 
pencil  notes  as  often  as  the  fever,  the  dysentery  that  fol- 
lowed it,  the  recurrence  of  the  fever,  and  all  the  weakness 
in  between,  permitted. 

And  then  at  last  there  came  a  day  when  I  left  my  bed 
and  was  dressed  again  with  a  white  collar  round  my  neck, 
and  I  sat  up  by  the  window  of  my  room  and  looked  down- 
ward, instead  of  being  on  my  back  and  looking  upward,  as 
I  had  for  so  long. 

There  was  a  pile  of  newspapers  on  the  chair  beside  me, 
and  I  looked  at  one  printed  at  Kalatu  and  let  my  eye  stray 
over  it  from  column  to  column.  Ever  since  I  had  shared 
Anna's  secret  with  her,  I  had  never  been  able  to  take  up  a 
paper,  European  or  native,  without  a  vague  dread  that  I 
might  find  her  name  in  it,  coupled  with  suspicion,  some 
veiled  story  or  even  open  scandal ;  and  so,  from  habit,  my 
eye  flitted  nervously  over  both  sheets  until  all  the  head- 
lines had  been  noted,  and  I  was  about  to  lay  the  paper 
down  with  relief  when  I  saw  in  an  obscure,  out-of-the-way 
corner  of  the  last  page,  two  or  three  lines  headed  "  The 
Epidemic,"  and  read  as  follows: 

"  The  cholera  epidemic  remains  at  present  unabated,  de- 
spite the  stringent  measures  adopted  for  its  suppression  by 
our  able  commissioner.  Three  hundred  and  twenty  deaths 
were  reported  yesterday,  against  two  hundred  and  ninety  of 
the  day  before;  and  there  are  seventy -five  fresh  cases  to- 
day." 

That  was  all — absolutely  all.  Just  that  little  foot-note 
at  the  end  of  the  sheet.  I  turned  over  the  four  pages  of 
the  paper  vainly  to  find  some  other  allusion  to  it.  There 
was  none.  Political  articles  were  there  as  usual;  com- 
plaints against  the  corrupt  municipality;  and,  in  the  local 
news  columns,  account  after  account  of  this  dinner,  that 
garden  party,  this  little  dance,  Mrs.  So-and-Sp's  picnic, 
gay  jokes,  Ion  mots,  descriptions  of  gowns,  with  list  of 
successes  or  failures  in  the  weekly  gymkhana.  These 
things  filled  up  the  sheet;  just  as  if  Kalatu  was  the  health- 
iest station  imaginable  and  in  the  gayest  and  most  light- 
hearted  of  humors,  with  no  deadly  stream  of  disease  flow- 
log  round  it  and  stealthily  lapping  up  its  victims  at  an 


ANNA    LOMBARD.  143 

average  of  three  hundred  a  day.  Well,  not  for  nothing 
have  we  British  our  reputation  for  phlegm.  And  Anna 
was  there,  and,  like  the  true  Briton  she  was,  thought  the 
plague  too  insignificant  a  matter  to  be  mentioned  in  her 
letters.  Then  I  recollected  she  had  not  written  to  me  for 
a  week.  Could  the  general  have  sent  her  away  for  safety? 
]  t  was  not  likely.  I  had  experience  of  these  things.  I 
know  how  the  British  in  India  treat  the  plague.  I  had 
been  through  an  epidemic  before  in  another  station  and 
had  noticed  their  demeanor — when  I  was  fresh  from  Eng- 
land, too,  and,  therefore,  I  had  noticed  it;  from  England, 
where,  if  a  navvy  dies  with  stomach-ache  in  the  hot  August 
weather,  somewhere  down  by  the  docks,  the  morning 
papers  have  big  head-lines,  set  in  capital  letters:  "  Case  of 
cholera  in  London.  Great  alarm  felt.  Message  from  the 
queen."  But  things  are  different  in  India,  and  this  is  how 
they  do  them  there.  First,  in  a  native  paper,  appears  a 
statement  of  five  deaths  from  cholera.  A  week  goes  by, 
and  then,  in  a  European  paper,  one  reads  that  by  order 
such-and-such  wells  have  been  closed  and  the  public  tanks 
and  wash-houses  shut  up  "  as  a  precautionary  measure." 
The  following  week  the  public  is  informed,  without  com- 
ment, that  "  deaths  from  cholera  are  now  averaging  one 
hundred  and  fifty  a  day,  and  bounds  have  been  established, 
the  line  being  set  at  the  native  city  " — which  is,  perhaps, 
five  miles  from  cantonments.  This  means  that  no  white 
person  shall  drive  in  his  carriage,  ride  or  pass  by  on  foot, 
or  in  any  way  whatever  cross  the  set  line  and  return.  All 
beyond  the  line  is  infected.  Day  by  day  passes,  and  the 
number  of  deaths  per  day  creeps  up  steadily,  and  that  line 
is  drawn  tighter  and  tighter,  closer  and  closer  round  the 
whites  as  that  deadly  black  sea  of  cholera  encroaches  and 
encroaches  on  all  sides.  The  line  or  boundary  being  set 
down  by  the  native  city  at  first,  one  can  ride  or  drive  from 
there  to  the  coast,  one  can  still  canter  through  the  public 
gardens,  shop  in  upper  town,  attend  the  band-stand,  or  visit 
distant  bungalows  out  on  the  desert.  Presently,  the  line  is 
drawn  up  into  a  narrower  loop,  and  one  by  one  cuts  out 
the  upper  town;  for  the  advancing  tide  of  cholera  has 
crept  into  that.  Next,  the  gardens  go,  the  line  is  put  be- 
tween them  and  you;  next,  the  drive  to  the  sea  or  the 
desert  is  forbidden,  and  the  line  contracts  into  a  puny  cir- 
cle,  which  embraces  the  principal  bungalows,  half  a  mile, 


144  ANKA    LOMBARD. 


perhaps,  of  level  ground  for  driving,  and  the  band-stand. 
Within  this  you  trot  and  canter  and  your  coachman  turns 
twenty  times  in  half  an  hour,  and  cholera  stares  you  in  the 
face  from  every  side  from  over  the  line. 

Meanwhile,  in  spite  of  the  strenuous  measures  adopted 
by  the  sanitary  inspection  committee,  the  board  of 
health,  the  health  commissioner,  and  many  other  untiring 
and  conscientious  officials;  in  spite  of  quarantines  and  iso- 
lations and  closed  wells  and  disinfectants,  the  deaths  reach, 
perhaps,  four  hundred  per  diem;  and  the  English  go  on 
with  their  dancing  and  dining,  picnic  in  compounds  —  be- 
cause everywhere  else  is  beyond  the  line  —  and  charade  par- 
ties. It  is  not  considered  etiquette  to  allude  to  the  plague 
in  any  way  or  at  any  time;  and  any  one  committing  such  a 
solecism  is  immediately  frowned  down  by  the  rest  of  the 
company  present.  If  an  expected  guest  is  absent  from  his 
place  at  a  dinner-party,  and  his  sudden  death  is  handed  to 
his  hostess  as  his  excuse,  no  inquiry  is  made  as  to  his  ill- 
ness. It  is  taken  for  granted  it  is  the  prevailing  epidemic; 
and,  of  course,  no  one  would  be  so  ill-bred  as  to  mention 
that.  Very  few  of  the  women  or  children  are  sent  away; 
at  any  rate,  not  until  the  mortality  among  the  whites  is 
very  great.  Beyond  the  line,  the  native  population  sickens 
and  dies;  and  the  list  of  its  losses  are  sent  in,  day  by  day, 
as  an  item  to  the  newspaper;  and  within  the  bounds,  the 
whites  laugh  and  dance  and  flirt  and  listen  to  their  bands 
playing  dance  music  and  read  obituary  notices  of  their  best 
friends,  and  the  funereal  tom-toms  never  cease  throbbing 
over  the  line. 

Well,  so  it  is  in  India  —  at  least  in  the  stations  where  I 
have  been  —  and  so  here  it  evidently  was  in  Kalatu.  And 
General  Lombard  and  his  daughter  were  among  that  gay, 
insouciant  crowd,  listening  to  dance  music  and  reading 
obituary  notices  like  the  rest.  But,  though  the  British 
may  scorn  danger  and  deride  death,  the  Briton  has  to  die 
like  the  rest  of  men;  and  though  he  die  with  a  smile  on  his 
lips,  that  does  not  comfort  any  particular  friend  who  want- 
ed him  alive. 

All  these  reflections  and  recollections  passed  quickly 
through  my  brain,  as  I  sat  with  the  open  paper  on  my  knees 
and  my  eyes  staring  vacantly  out  toward  the  Kaiber  hills. 
Then  I  turned  and  called  up  my  servants  and  bid  them 


LOMBARD.  145 

pack  up  my  trunks  and  make  all  ready  to  go  down  to 
Kalatu  the  following  day. 

There  were  one  or  two  little  hand-cases  that  I  always 
packed  myself,  and,  as  I  bent  over  these,  the  thought 
would  keep  driving  through  my  brain:  "  I  have  not  heard 
for  a  week.  Suppose  she  should  be  ill!"  And  a  compan- 
ion thought  followed  quickly:  "  Suppose  she  should  be 
dead!"  And  yet  a  third:  "Suppose  she  should  be  dead 
and  buried!"  One  never  knows  in  India.  An  eighteen- 
hours'  absence,  for  the  matter  of  that,  is  unsafe.  Twelve 
hours  is  enough  for  cholera  to  do  its  work  in,  and  six  hours 
after  that  the  corpse  is  buried.  So  that,  on  Monday  even- 
ing one  may  hold  a  form  close  in  one's  arms,  alive  and 
brilliant  with  health,  and  on  Tuesday,  at  noon,  on  going 
to  call,  one  may  learn  that  it  is  shut  away  with  eight  feet 
of  cemetery  earth  barring  one  from  it  forever.  Leaning 

over  my  trunk,  I  d d  my  weak  foolishness  for  having 

such  thoughts.  Were  there  not  three  hundred  white  wom- 
en and  girls  in  Kalatu,  and  why  should  Anna  be  stricken 
more  than  they?  And  would  not  General  Lombard  have 
wired  me  if  my  fiancee  were  ill?  Yet  that  horrible,  haunt- 
ing possibility,  that  idea  that  I  might  never  again  feel  that 
soft  heart  beat  against  my  own;  never  see  those  eyes  deepen 
and  darken  as  they  looked  into  mine;  never  have  those 
gentle,  slender  arms  clasped  about  my  neck  again,  stood 
beside  me  or  behind  me  all  that  day,  goading  me. 

"  The  sahib  packs  badly,"  observed  my  bearer,  judi- 
cially, from  over  my  shoulder,  as  he  stood  watching  me 
throwing  in  my  things  recklessly.  "  Even  I  can  pack 
superior." 

It  is  a  tedious  journey  down  from  Peshawur;  and  the 
train,  when  it  does  arrive,  brings  you  in  at  five  in  the 
morning — not  the  most  convenient  hour.  Kalalu  seemed 
unchanged  as  I  drove  from  the  station.  Its  broad  red 
roads,  with  their  border  of  emerald-green  moss  at  the 
edges,  looked  cool  and  pleasant  enough  to  the  eye,  in  the 
early  dawn.  The  bungalows  had  their  customary  quota  of 
servants  moving  about  them;  and  the  sun,  climbing  over 
the  edge  of  the  level  plain  to  the  east,  threw  long,  cool 
shadows  from  the  broad-leaved  banana-trees. 

I  learned  from  the  coachman  that  Lombard  Sahib  and 
the  Miss  Sahib  were  both  well,  and  perhaps  that  made  the 
drive  seem  very  supportable.  At  nine  o'clock,  tubbed  and 


146  ANNA    LOMBARD. 

shaved,  I  was  turning  over  the  papers  in  the  club  reading- 
room  and  having  the  absence  of  several  familiar  faces  ex- 
plained to  me;  by  half-past  I  had  reported  myself  to  the 
commissioner;  and  at  ten  I  was  ready  to  make  my  way 
over  to  Anna's. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

WHEN  I  reached  the  bungalow,  breakfast  was  over  and 
the  general  had  already  left.  Anna  met  me  on  the  ver- 
anda, and  I  looked  over  her  critically,  expecting  to  see 
some  change  in  her,  after  a  month  of  the  kind  of  life  she 
had  been  leading.  But  no;  there  was  all  that  same  slim 
grace  and  freshness  unimpaired,  and  the  pallor  and  grief 
of  her  face  was  evidently  only  the  result  of  sudden  and  re- 
cent shock.  She  was  pale,  and  her  eyes  looked  very  large 
and  dark;  but  that  only  seemed  to  make  her  face  even 
more  expressive  than  usual. 

"  Oh,  Gerald,  why  did  you  come?"  were  her  first  words. 
"  I  do  so  wish  you  hadn't.  It  would  be  safer  to  keep  away, 
for  a  little  while." 

"  Since  I  came  down  from  Peshawur  entirely  to  see  if  I 
could  be  of  any  use  to  you,  I  think  my  presence  here  is 
quite  natural,"  I  answered,  smiling. 

It  was  very  sweet  to  me  to  even  see  her  again.  After 
all,  the  mere  sight  of  the  loved  one  is  a  great  and  precious 
thing. 

"  Did  you  really — really?  How  good  of  you!"  she  said, 
looking  up  at  me  with  melting  eyes.  "  Isn't  it  horrible? 
The  whole  station  is  down  with  it.  No  one  knows  who 
will  be  the  next  one.  We  have  it  here  in  the  house  among 
the  servants." 

I  guessed  the  truth  from  her  voice  and  accent,  and  my 
heart  almost  stood  still  as  I  put  the  question: 

"  Has  Gaida  it?" 

"  Yes;  he  is  the  only  one  who  has  at  present." 

My  heart  seemed  to  give  a  great  bound  as  I  heard;  but 
the  throb  of  exultation  and  triumph,  if  it  were  really  that 
that  went  through  me,  was  checked  instantly  by  the  look 
of  blighting  anguish  on  her  face. 

"  I  believe  he  is  going  to  die,"  she  said. 

The  words  are  simple  enough;  but  she  spoke  as  the  pris- 


ANNA    LOMBAED.  147 

oner  may  speak  who  is  stretched  on  the  rack,  with  writhing 
lips  and  every  nerve  wrenched  with  agony. 

I  looked  at  her  face  and  understood  how  the  approach  of 
death  had  raised  all  her  waning,  dying  passion  again  to  its 
highest  pitch.  All  his  faults  and  offenses  were  forgotten, 
doubtless,  when  he  was  stricken  before  her;  and  her  whole 
being  was  clinging  wildly  to  its  love  for  the  beautiful 
human  frame,  the  source  of  so  much  passionate  pleasure  to 
her  and  now  claimed  by  disease  and  death.  1  saw  it  all, 
and  ground  my  teeth  that  it  should  be  so;  but  still,  being 
so,  my  own  line  of  action  was  clear. 

"  Let  me  see  him.  I  have  some  knowledge  of  the  dis- 
ease and  its  treatment." 

Anna  started. 
'You?    Why?    What  would  you  do?" 

"  I  will  bring  him  through,  if  I  can,"  I  answered,  sim- 

piy- 

"  I  think  the  danger  is  too  great.  You  might  get  it 
from  him."  There  was  a  minute's  silence,  while  we  both 
looked  at  each  other.  Then  her  eyes  swam  suddenly  in  tears, 
and  she  caught  my  hand  and  pressed  it  up  to  her  breast. 
"Oh!  you  know,  you  know,  if  I  had  to  choose  between 
you,  it  would  be  you.  Your  life  is  infinitely  more  to  me 
than  his.  You  are  always  first.  However  much  I  love 
him,  I  love  you  more.  I  can't  bring  you  into  the  con- 
tagion." 

Her  voice  was  so  passionate,  her  whole  face  and  form  so 
expressive  of  her  strange,  double  emotion  that,  for  a  sec- 
ond, I  felt  unbalanced  and  longed  to  gather  her  into  my 
arms  and  kiss  her.  Then  I  recalled  myself  and  said, 
merely: 

"  I  don't  believe  in  contagion  through  the  breath  or 
touch.  I  shall  not  eat  or  drink  in  Gaida's  room,  so  I  shall 
be  all  right.  Take  me  to  him." 

She  hesitated  for  a  moment,  then,  apparently,  the  press- 
ure of  my  will  in  the  matter  overcame  her  own — as  was 
usual  in  our  intercourse — and  she  turned,  and  we  went 
down  the  steps  of  the  veranda  and  round  the  house,  across 
the  rose-garden,  by  the  very  same  little  track  I  had  taken 
on  that  memorable  night  of  whispers.  And  the  memory 
of  all  those  terrible,  savage  emotions  swept  over  me;  but 
not  the  emotions  themselves.  I  understood  now  so  much 
better.  The  girl's  respective  passions  of  the  mind  and 


148  AKtfA    LOMBARD. 


body  were  one  of  those  terrible,  complex  problems  that  life 
is  continually  holding  out  to  our  gaze.  It  was  something 
beyond  her  own  power,  will,  or  comprehension.  She  was 
but  the  innocent,  will-less  plaything  of  some  of  those  ex- 
traordinary forces  that  govern  and  sport  with  humanity; 
that  push  it  and  pull  it  hither  and  thither,  and  can  sudden- 
ly wrench  asunder  the  strongest  ties,  though  their  victim 
bleed  to  death  at  the  severance. 

I  was  not  now  the  deceived  and  cheated  lover  of  a  faith- 
less mistress.  I  was  simply  her  co-sufferer  from  the  hid- 
den, relentless  laws  of  life. 

My  feelings  did  not  differ  very  widely  now,  I  think,  from 
what  they  would  have  been  if  I  had  known  her  stricken 
with  some  fearful  disease.  There  was  the  same  sorrow; 
the  same  crushing  resentment  against  destiny;  the  same 
sense  of  selfish,  personal  loss;  the  same  anxiety,  pity,  and 
sympathy  for  her. 

The  ancients,  indeed,  considered  passion  and  all  love  a 
disease,  and  openly  called  it  such.  But  as  such  —  though  in 
this  case  the  effects  upon  my  feelings  were  much  the  same 
—  I  do  not  regard  it.  Passion  is,  rather,  the  effect  upon  us  of 
some  mysterious,  hidden  power  in  Nature  that  sways  irre- 
sistibly the  senses,  but  has  no  control  over  the  soul.  And 
so  our  body  is  driven  often,  as  it  seems,  with  intangible 
blows  and  irresistible  coercion,  as  Anna's  was,  toward  some 
object  that  the  soul  rejects  and  abhors.  Subsequently  that 
same  power,  invisible  as  a  storm  wind  and  as  powerful, 
often  with  the  same  blows  that  one  can  not  meet,  but  yet 
can  feel,  binds  down  the  body  there,  and  with  it  the  strug- 
gling soul. 

If  I  had  seen  Anna  carried  from  me  by  some  beast  of 
prey,  crying  to  me  for  help,  holding  out  her  arms  to  me, 
and  longing  for  me  in  her  death-agony;  I  could  not  have 
understood  more  clearly  or  felt  more  free  from  anger  with 
her  than  I  did  now,  now  that  I  had  once  gazed  into  this 
problem  and  read  it. 

So  I  followed  calmly  her  light,  quick  footsteps  —  for  she 
was  almost  running  now,  like  a  deer  to  its  mate  in  the 
thicket  —  and  in  a  few  minutes  we  had  reached  the  quarters 
of  the  natives  at  the  far  end  of  the  compound.  No  one 
was  stirring.  It  was  high  noon,  and  any  of  the  natives 
not  engaged  in  the  house  were  sleeping  behind  the  grass 
mats  hanging  before  their  hut  doors, 


ANNA    LOMBARD.  149 

At  one  of  these,  in  no  way  marked  out  from  the  rest, 
Anaa  stopped,  and,  lifting  the  hanging  mat  with  her  hand, 
stooped  and  passed  in  underneath,  and  I  followed.  Never, 
as  long  as  I  retain  memory  of  anything,  can  I  forget  that 
scene  of  desolation,  squalor,  and  misery,  as  it  seems  to 
Europeans,  that  seemed  to  burn  in  upon  my  eyes.  The 
hut  was  perfectly  square,  with  unpapered,  uncovered  brown 
mud  walls.  There  was  one  unglazed  aperture  a  foot  square, 
in  the  wall  opposite,  which  let  in  the  only  light;  the  mats 
over  the  door  having  fallen  again  after  our  entrance  and 
blocking  out  the  sunlight  there.  The  roof  was  of  mud 
and  laths,  and,  perhaps,  half  a  foot  higher  than  my  head. 
The  floor  was  of  soft  mud,  trodden  by  many  feet  into  a 
sodden  paste.  The  whole  of  the  center  was  taken  up  by  a 
large,  square  charpoy,  that  possessed  no  drapery,  no  bed- 
clothes of  any  kind  save  one  thin,  gray  blanket.  There 
was  only  just  space  for  one  person  to  pass  all  round  the 
room,  between  the  bed  and  the  mud  walls.  Other  furni- 
ture there  was  none.  One  cracked  china  tea-cup  and  a 
bent  tin  spoon  were  stuck  upright  in  the  mud  of  the  floor 
by  the  bed.  And  there,  stretched  on  the  bed,  in  the  dim 
twilight  of  this  human  stable,  with  a  few,  white  cotton  rags 
on  him,  lay  Gaida,  dying  in  the  grip  of  the  black  cholera. 
He  had  turned  his  head  toward  the  entrance  as  Anna 
raised  the  mat.  I  made  a  step  forward  and  stood  by  the 
bed.  As  his  eyes  lighted  on  me  their  narrow  oval  filled 
with  a  fury  of  anger  and  scorn. 

"  Son  of  a  sow!"  he  muttered,  raising  himself,  and  then 
fell  back  with  a  groan  of  agony.  His  lips  were  blue. 
Then  he  turned  to  Anna.  "  Why  dost  thou  bring  him 
here?"  he  said,  in  a  hoarse  voice.  "  Is  it  not  enough  that 
I  am  leaving  thee  to  him?  Canst  thou  not  wait  till  I  am 
dead?" 

Anna  knelt  beside  him  on  the  mud  floor,  stretching  aar 
arms  out  on  the  bed  in  a  passion  of  tears. 

"  He  has  come  to  aid  thee — cure  thee,"  she  answered. 
"  Allah  has  sent  him." 

"  Men  do  not  aid  and  cure  their  rivals,"  the  Pathan 
muttered  in  reply,  turning  his  head  wearily  from  side  to 
side. 

"  The  English  do,"  returned  Anna,  between  her  heart- 
rending sobs.  "  I  tell  thee  he  is  a  medicine-man.  He  is 


150  ANNA    LOMBARD. 

skilled  in  many  things.  He  will  restore  tliee  to  life  for  my 
sake.  Accept  him.  Allah  sends  him." 

"  True.  What  Allah  wills  is.  If  he  has  sent  him  to 
kill,  I  die.  If  to  cure,  I  live.  He  may  come." 

Anna  rose  joyfully  from  her  knees,  and  I  advanced  to 
the  bed  and  looked  keenly  at  him.  He  was  still  in  the  first 
stage  of  cholera,  and  could  bo  saved,  I  thought. 

"  Gaida  Khan,"  I  said,  gently,  "  I  am  going  to  cure 
you  for  your  wife's  sake.  You  know  Englishmen  do  not 
lie.  Trust  me." 

A  semblance  of  that  former  smile,  which  had  been  the 
crowning  beauty  of  that  marvelous  face,  passed  over  it. 

"  My  trust  is  with  thee,"  he  murmured,  and  clused  his 
eyes. 

I  opened  a  pocket  medicine-case  and  took  out  a  prepara- 
tion of  opium  and  gave  him  a  few  drops.  He  took  them 
calmly  and  lay  motionless.  I  turned  to  Anna, 

"  Give  your  servants  orders  to  carry  him  over  to  my 
house,"  1  said.  "  I  can  treat  him  better  there,  and  air 
and  space  are  essential." 

Anna  clasped  her  hands  against  her  breast  in  dismay, 
and  looked  at  mo  with  streaming  eyes. 

"  Do  you  want  to  take  him  away  from  me  now?" 

"  You  cai  come  there — stay  there,  if  you  wish,"  I  said, 
hurriedly;  "  but  he  must  be  moved.  Give  your  orders  at 
once.  Seconds  now  mean  life  or  death." 

Anna  grew  paler,  if  that  were  possible;  but  she  did  not 
hesitate  longer.  She  raised  the  swinging  mat  and  slipped 
out  into  the  burnished  light  of  the  compound.  I  stood  by 
the  bed  ready  to  give  more  opium,  if  there  should  be  the 
slightest  sign  of  an  approaching  cramp.  But  he  lay  still, 
and  there  was  no  sound  within  or  without  save  the  gay  call 
of  a  maina,  now  and  then,  swinging  on  a  bough  outside. 

In  a  few  seconds  Anna  reappeared  wiLh  four  servants, 
two  of  whom  went  to  the  head  of  the  charpoy  and  two  to 
the  feet,  and  they  lifted  it  with  ease.  Anna  and  I  tora 
down  the  mats  from  the  front  of  the  hut,  and  left  a  free 
and  open  way  for  the  charpoy  and  its  bearers  to  pass  out. 
The  compound  was  silent  and  deserted  in  the  blazing  soli- 
tude of  noon,  and  we  threaded  our  way  across  it  between 
the  pomegranate-trees  and  out  to  the  side-gate  that  opened 
on  to  the  road  leading  to  my  house.  This,  too,  was  quiet 
and  empty,  lying  arid  and  parched  under  the  pitiless  glare. 


ANNA    LOMBARD.  ,  151 

Anna  drew  one  of  the  thin,  cotton  cloths  entirely  over 
Gaida's  head  and  face,  as  the  natives  themselves  do  before 
going  to  sleep,  and  so  we  passed  swiftly  up  to  my  com- 
pound with  our  burden,  that  lay  motionless  under  the  cov- 
erings as  if  already  a  corpse.  When  we  reached  my  house, 
I  had  him  taken  to  one  of  the  rooms  on  the  west  side — a 
large,  cool,  lofty  room  with  a  wide  veranda  beyond,  into 
which  its  windows  opened.  This  veranda  being  filled  with 
palms  and  ferns,  hourly  watered  by  a  watchful  gardener, 
formed  a  natural  thermantidote.  The  fierce  desert  wind 
blew  through  it,  and  its  scorching  breath  came  into  the 
room,  a  cool  zephyr,  bearing  the  moist  scent  of  ferns. 
From  his  own  cliarpoy  Gaida  was  lifted  to  a  bed  of 
stretched  canvas,  cool  and  yielding  as  down.  He  opened 
his  eyes,  as  he  sunk  back  upon  it,  and  gazed  round.  The 
tranquil,  shaded  quiet,  the  refreshing  atmosphere  seemed 
to  surprise  him,  after  the  close  heat  of  the  mud  hut  with  the 
sun  rays  pouring  down  upon  its  cow-dung  roof.  Anna  had 
to  retuni,  to  be  present  at  the  house  when  the  general  came 
back  and  preside  over  his  luncheon;  so  that  I  and  Gaida 
were  left  alone. 

I  worked  against  the  disease  all  through  that  day,  and 
toward  evening  seemed  to  have  made  some  headway.  I 
had  had  great  experience  with  cholera,  having  nursed  many 
of  my  servants  and  others,  usually  natives,  to  recovery.  I 
was  absolutely  without  fear  of  the  disease  myself;  why,  I 
can  not  say,  except  that  fear  is  such  a  curious,  relative  emo- 
tion. No  two  people  seem  to  feel  the  same  degree  of  fear 
for  the  same  thing.  I  have  known  personally  a  young 
lieutenant  who  fled  from  his  post  in  abject  terror  before  the 
cholera,  and  shortly  afterward  picked  up  an  unexploded 
shell,  with  the  lighted  fuse  attached,  and  carried  it  some  dis- 
tance in  his  hands  with  unshaken  coolness  and  bravery. 

As  that  long  Indian  day — a  day  of  splendor  and  gorgeous 
color — wore  away  beyond  the  luminous  green  of  the  ver- 
anda, I  worked  and  watched,  never  leaving  his  bedside  for 
a  moment.  I  did  not  dare  to  let  my  thoughts  dwell  on 
the  relative  positions  that  would  be  mine  if  he  died  and  if 
he  recovered.  I  shut  out  everything  from  my  thought, 
except  the  strenuous  desire  to  save  him.  It  was  the  easier 
to  me  to  do  this,  since  it  was  but  the  consistent  following 
out  of  the  policy  I  had  decided  upon  from  the  very  first, 
and  had  been  pursuing  through  so  many  weary  months. 


152  ANNA    LOMBARD. 

To  servo  Anna,  to  protect  in  every  way  this  man— since 
that  was  her  wish — and  leave  the  ultimate  issue  entirely  to 
powers  beyond  my  own,  had  been  the  line  of  action  from 
which  I  had  never  wavered.  How  often  the  old  Greek  cry 
co  the  Deity  rose  in  my  heart.  I  did  not  wish  to  stretch 
out  my  own  hand  to  the  rudder  of  my  fate.  Loving  Anna 
as  I  did,  made  it  impossible  for  me;  since  my  reaching  the 
port  of  my  desires,  might  mean  her  shipwreck.  I  sat, 
therefore,  as  it  were,  a  simple  oarsman,  rowing  humbly  in 
the  boat,  obeying  orders,  and  trusting  blindly  to  the  hand 
upon  the  helm.  So  now  my  immediate  duty  was  to  save 
this  life  that  was  ruining  my  own.  That  was  my  last 
order,  and  I  was  obeying  it  even  cheerfully  and  with  my 
utmost  strength;  for  I  had  beaten  down  my  own  desires 
and  my  own  self  to  a  point  which  made  it  possible. 

Toward  evening,  as  I  sat  watching  him,  I  saw  that  some 
stimulant  was  needed.  There  was  improvement,  certainly, 
since  the  morning;  the  great  coolness,  the  perfect  rest,  and 
silence  and  pure  air  had  all  helped  him;  but  now  he 
seemed  failing  and  sinking;  and  I  saw  I  must  bring  about 
a  reaction  or  he  was  lost.  Eaw  brandy  was  what  was 
needed,  and  I  crossed  the  room  to  my  chest  and  uncorked 
a  bottle.  Then  I  looked  at  it  doubtfully.  Being  a  Mo- 
hammedan, he  would  not  touch  it,  I  knew,  unless  I  could 
successfully  disguise  it.  I  selected  an  empty  medicine-bot- 
tle with  a  large,  attractive  label,  and  filled  it  with  the 
brandy,  pouring  some  essence  of  peppermint  into  it.  Then 
I  walked  to  the  bed  with  the  bottle  and  glass,  and  aroused 
him.  He  seemed  heavy  and  sleepy. 

"  It  is  time  to  take  some  more  medicine,"  I  said;  and 
he  rose  a  little,  obediently,  and  I  filled  the  glass  and  held  it 
to  his  lips.  He  swallowed  two  mouthfuls,  then,  as  the 
brandy  burned  his  throat  and  chest,  he  recognized  in  a 
flash  and  intuitively,  what  it  was.  He  sprung  to  a  sitting 
position,  with  his  eyes  blazing,  and  dashed  the  glass  out  of 
my  hand  to  the  floor,  where  it  broke  to  atoms. 

*'  Base  born  and  cursed!  Dog!  Thou  wantest  to  steal 
my  soul  from  Allah!  Thou  wouldst  have  me  live,  but  in 
sin;  drinking  what  he  has  forbidden,  like  an  unbeliever." 

"  Gaida,"  I  answered,  bitterly,  in  the  same  tongue, 
"  you  talk  foolishly.  It  would  be  better  for  me  if  I  let 
your  soul  depart  immediately  to  Allah.  I  have  no  wish  to 
keep  you  here  in  sin  or  otherwise.  But  to  drink  wine  for 


ANNA    LOMBARD.  153 

medicine  is  different  from  drinking  it  for  pleasure.  Drink 
it  now  to  get  well,  but  abjure  it  afterward.  Allah  will  for- 
give you." 

"  Thou  wouldst  seduce  me,"  he  muttered,  sullenly, 
eying  me  suspiciously. 

He  was  still  sitting  up,  and  I  noticed  he  pressed  his 
hands  low  down  on  his  chest,  and  I  knew  the  frightful  in- 
ternal cramps  were  beginning. 

"  If  you  will  not  take  it,  you  must  die,"  1  urged. 

"  Then  I  die,"  he  returned,  and  flung  himself  back  on 
the  bed. 

He  had  hardly  spoken,  before  a  horrible  convulsion  seized 
him.  His  head  bent  backward  till  the  veins  in  the  purple 
throat  seemed  cracking,  his  spine  arched  upward  till  noth- 
ing touched  the  cliarpoy  but  his  feet  and  head.  His  hands 
were  knotted  into  balls  beneath  him,  and  his  arms  turned 
livid  to  the  elbow.  The  next  moment  he  had  rolled  over  on 
his  face,  with  a  muffled  scream  of  agony ;  his  knees  drawn 
upward  to  the  chin.  I  turned  to  get  my  hypodermic  in- 
jector, and  as  I  did  so  he  was  seized  with  vomiting — and 
that  vomiting  of  cholera!  Surely  there  is  no  other  sickness 
like  it.  It  seems  to  rack  the  whole  body  and  stretch  every 
nerve  to  splitting  point.  I  put  my  hand  on  his  forehead 
to  support  his  head,  from  which  the  wild  eyeballs  seemed 
literally  staring.  At  first,  in  the  basin  over  which  he  hung 
strained  and  quivering,  there  was  only  a  dark,  almost  ink 
like  fluid;  but  in  a  few  moments  it  became  brightly  stained 
with  blood,  and  I  saw  that  some  vessel  in  the  throat  or 
stomach  had  been  ruptured.  A  red  stream,  mingled  with 
the  darker  one,  continued  to  pour  from  his  lips,  as  spasm 
after  spasm  of  vomiting  passed  through  his  tortured  frame. 
Then  he  sunk  back  suddenly,  almost  slipping  through  my 
arms,  to  the  pillow,  and  lay  as  if  dead,  drenched  with  sweat 
and  a  red  froth  of  slime  and  blood  covering  the  blue  lips. 

At  this  moment  Anna  entered  and  paused  at  the  door. 
I  looked  at  her,  my  heart  wrung  with  pity  and  alai'm;  but 
she  neither  screamed  nor  fainted  nor  gave  any  sign.  On 
her  face  was  the  look  of  one  who  has  gone  through  the 
acme  of  human  agony,  and  who  expects  nothing,  hopes 
nothing  more  from  life.  Sne  crossed  the  room  calmly  and 
looked  at  the  bent,  crooked,  blackened  remnant  of  life  and 
beauty  on  the  bed;  that  lay  there  as  a  young  tree  lies  in  the 


154  ANNA    LOMBARD. 

forest,  that  has  been  struck  and  shivered  by  the  lightning, 
burned,  blistered,  and  useless;  and  then  at  the  basin  I  held. 

She  bent  over  him,  and  with  her  handkerchief  wiped  his 
lips  dry;  and  I  brought  her  a  small  piece  of  ice  to  put  be- 
tween them.  After  a  minute  she  straightened  herself  by 
the  bed  and  looked  at  me,  as  if  inquiring  an  account  of  my 
charge. 

"  He  was  improving  steadily,"  I  answered,  "  and  would 
have  done  so  up  till  now;  but  I  could  not  persuade  him  to 
take  any  stimulant.  It  will  be  difficult  to  save  him  with- 
out." 

"  No,"  she  answered,  looking  at  the  broken  glass  and 
spilled  brandy,  "  he  would  prefer  to  die,  I  know." 

"  So  he  said." 

"  Is  there  no  substitute?" 

I  thought  for  a  few  moments. 

"Nothing,  I  think,  so  good;  but  I  will  try  this,"  and  I 
took  a  bottle  from  my  cabinet  and  poured  out  a  dose 
from  it. 

This  he  took  submissively  enough;  and  as  Anna  took  a 
seat  by  the  bed  he  looked  up  with  a  smile  and  clasped  her 
hand  feebly  in  one  of  his.  He  turned  toward  her  on  his 
side  and  closed  his  eyes;  and  for  one  hour  he  seemed  to  rest 
in  peace,  while  we  sat  in  silence.  Then  the  light  grew  a 
richer  shade  of  gold,  and  a  clock  chimed  somewhere  in  the 
house. 

"  I  must  go  back  to  be  present  at  dinner,"  Anna  said, 
looking  at  her  watch,  "  and  stay  with  papa  through  the 
evening;  but,  as  soon  as  every  one  is  in  bed,  I  will  come 
back  here." 

I  felt  it  was  quite  useless  to  try  to  dissuade  her,  to  warn 
her  of  her  own  danger  or  the  risk  she  ran  in  every  way  in 
leaving  her  own  house  at  such  an  hour  as  she  proposed  and 
walking  over  to  spend  the  night  in  mine.  But  even  to  me, 
things  looked  so  differently  under  the  wing  of  death  that 
was  spread  over  us  all,  from  how  they  would  at  other  times. 
Everything  that  was  not  life  or  death  seemed  small. 

So  I  assented,  and  Anna  left  me  toward  six  and  drove 
back  to  her  bungalow;  there  to  be  tender,  quiet,  and  calm; 
to  listen  to  the  account  of  the  general's  doings  during  the 
day;  to  sit  at  the  head  of  his  table  and  take  soup  and  drink 
wine  with  smiling  lips,  and  ask  and  answer  ordinary  ques- 


ANKA    LOMBARD.  155 

tions  with  a  natural  voice,  while  her  heart  was  beating  it- 
self to  death  beneath  that  smooth,  white  breast. 

It  was  past  eleven  before  she  returned.  I  had  ordered 
all  the  doors  of  the  house  to  be  left  open,  nominally  that 
we  might  have  more  air;  and  so  she  stepped  straight  from 
the  compound  into  the  veranda  of  the  sick-room  and  then 
into  the  room  itself.  She  sunk  into  the  nearest  chair,  clos- 
ing her  eyes;  and  I  saw  her  face  was  white,  while  the  sweat 
stood  out  in  large  drops  on  her  forehead.  The  way  be- 
tween the  two  houses  was  short;  but  it  was  over  a  heavy 
road  of  soft  dust;  and  in  the  oppressive  heat  of  that  air, 
which  it  was  labor  even  to  breathe,  the  exertion  of  walking 
that  distance  was  very  great.  I  went  to  her  and  lifted  her 
drooping  head  against  my  breast. 

"  How  is  he?  How  has  he  been?"  she  asked,  lifting 
her  heavy  eyes  to  mine.  "  Will  he  recover?" 

I  looked  down  at  her. 

"  I  can  not  say,"  I  murmured.  **  His  powers  of  resist- 
ance are  wonderful;  but  I  am  afraid — " 

"  So  am  I,"  whispered  Anna,  with  trembling  lips. 

She  remained  with  us  through  the  night,  sitting  with 
her  eyes  fixed  on  the  bed ;  and  I,  in  the  intervals  of  waiting 
upon  him,  sat  and  watched  her.  Outside,  the  moon  rose 
slowly  and  poured  its  cold,  clear,  silver  light  down  on  our 
pestilence-stricken  station.  The  stars  rose,  wheeled, 
flashed  on  their  courses,  and  sunk  again  behind  the  hori- 
zon. Hour  after  hour  of  the  hot,  silent  night  rolled 
heavily  by;  and  we  waited  and  worked  in  silence.  It  was 
a  curious  situation:  Anna  here  in  my  house  with  me 
through  those  midnight  hours,  the  woman  I  loved  and 
whom  all  the  station  thought  mine;  and  the  man,  whose 
life  stood  between  me  and  the  sunlight,  lying  on  my  bed 
and  my  hands  trying  to  wrench  him  backward,  as  he  slipped 
toward  the  grave;  and  me,  myself,  if  I  really  were  myself 
— Lucky  Ethridge — watching  them  both,  dazed  and  tort- 
ured and  battling  against  this  death,  that  would  be  the  only 
thing  to  deliver  me.  Yet  so  it  was,  till  the  white  light  of 
the  dawn  broke  in  through  the  jilmils.  Anna  staggered 
to  her  feet  with  a  face  as  terrible  almost  as  the  one  on  the 
pillow;  and,  drawing  a  veil  over  her  head,  prepared  to  go 
back  to  her  bungalow.  Gaida  was  sleeping.  She  came 
up  to  me  and  put  her  arms  round  me  and  kissed  me,  a 
burning  kiss  on  the  neck;  then  she  stepped  out  through 


156  ANNA    LOMBARD. 

the  veranda  down  into  the  blighted,  withering  compound, 
and  took  her  way  through  the  dust  to  the  road. 

The  kiss  seemed  to  speak  to  me  in  a  language  I  can  not 
translate.  I  only  know  that  I  prayed  then,  fervently  and 
honestly,  for  the  power  to  save  this  man  to  be  put  into  my 
hands.  And  I  worked  and  watched  strenuously  by  his 
bedside  every  golden  second  of  that  long,  golden  day.  But 
the  fiat  had  gone  forth  against  him.  There  was  no  longer 
any  rally  or  response.  All  that  I  could  do  kept  back, 
weighted,  and  made  slower  those  steps;  yet,  in  spite  of  me, 
they  crept  onward,  onward  persistently  to  the  shadow. 

It  was  five  o'clock  on  this,  the  second  afternoon. 

Gaida  was  sinking  rapidly;  his  feet  were  already  cold. 
The  last  glory  of  the  afternoon  sun  was  rushing  into  the 
room  through  the  western  window  and  filling  it  with  warm 
radiance.  It  fell  all  over  the  bed  and  over  Anna  sitting 
beside  it,  crushed  and  hopeless.  Her  face,  always  wonder- 
ful for  its  power  of  reflecting  what  was  passing  in  her  soul, 
had  now  upon  it  the  stamp  of  absolute  horror  and  despair. 
Cheeks  and  lips  were  bloodless,  and  the  eyes  so  unnatu- 
rally dilated  that  the  black  pupil  almost  eclipsed  the  blue 
iris.  She  sat  drooping,  smitten,  helpless  beside  him;  and  I 
watched  them  both.  In  a  few  minutes  his  eyes  opened  on 
the  splendor  of  the  sunlight  that  filled  the  room,  and  he 
looked  at  her.  It  was  the  rally  before  death. 

"  I  am  leaving  thee,"  he  said,  in  the  hoarse,  choleraic 
whisper;  and  stretched  toward  her  his  pinched,  blue  arm 
— only  three  days  before  so  powerful  and  shapely. 

Tears  came  gushing  to  Anna's  strained  eyes  and  fell  in 
drenching  rain  down  her  white  face  as  she  flung  herself 
forward  on  the  bed  and  put  her  arms  about  him. 

"  Tell  me  that  I  shall  not  lose  thee;  that  thou  wilt  not 
forget  me  for  the  houris  of  Paradise.  Tell  me  thy  soul 
will  wait  there  for  mine."  Gaida  opened  wide  his  dying 
eyes,  and  there  was  a  look  of  love  and  tenderness  in  them. 
He  raised  his  hand  and  put  it  softly  on  her  head.  "  Thou 
art  a  female;  thou  hast  no  soul,"  he  said;  and  I  heard  a 
low,  anguished  sob  break  from  her  breast,  as  if  he  had 
driven  his  knife  there.  "  Farewell,  thou  light  of  my 
eyes,"  he  said;  and  Anna,  in  a  frenzy  of  grief  and  agony, 
bent  her  face  to  his  and  kissed  him  on  his  blackened, 
cholera-tainted  lips.  "  Go  from  me,"  he  murmured,  feel- 
ing the  supreme  moment  approaching;  "  let  me  die." 


ANNA    LOMBARD.  157 

1  drew  Anna  from  him.  His  breast  was  arching  in  a 
horrible  paroxysm  of  death;  his  teeth  were  clinched,  and 
the  black,  blistered  lips  rolled  back  from  them.  There 
was  a  moment's  tense  struggle  between  that  noble  frame 
and  its  despoiler,  then  his  nostrils  dilated  suddenly. 
"  Allah!  Allah!"  he  called,  raising  his  right  arm.  It  fell, 
and  he  lay  motionless. 

"  Gerald,  he  is  dead!  dead!''  and  Anna  flung  herself 
full  length  upon  the  floor  and  struck  her  forehead  again 
and  again  on  it,  like  one  mad. 

I  caught  her  up  in  my  arms.  She  was  insensible.  It 
was  a  whole  hour  before  I  brought  her  back  to  conscious- 
ness. I  had  taken  her  into  another  room,  and  when  she 
opened  her  eyes  she  was  in  my  arms  and  met  my  gaze  look- 
ing down  upon  her.  She  turned  to  me,  clung  to  me,  and 
wept  on  my  shoulder  in  a  flood  of  frightful,  scalding  tears, 
that  I  thought  would  never  cease.  At  last,  however,  she 
raised  her  head  and  looked  about  her.  It  was  growing 
dark. 

"  Gerald,  I  must  go  back.  Take  me  back.  Nothing  of 
this  must  be  known,  for  your  sake.  My  life  belongs  to  you 
now.  Let  us  go  home." 

I  ordered  my  carriage,  locking  the  doors  and  windows  of 
the  room  where  Gaida  lay,  and  we  went  back  together. 

She  sat  beside  me  in  the  carriage,  rigid  and  pale,  quiet 
and  wonderfully  controlled.  I  held  her  ice-cold  hand  in 
mine  and  pressed  it  hard;  but  we  did  not  speak.  She  gave 
her  directions  to  the  coachman  perfectly  clearly  when  she 
alighted. 

"  I  will  rejoin  you  in  a  few  moments,"  I  said,  as  she 
ascended  the  steps  of  the  veranda. 

She  inclined  her  head,  and  I  drove  back  rapidly  to  my 
bungalow.  Here  I  made  all  the  arrangements  for  the 
burial  of  Gaida,  exactly  as  if  it  had  been  one  of  my  own 
favored  servants  who  had  died.  My  servants  were  devoted 
to  me,  and  orders  were  obeyed  as  soon  as  given.  Within  a 
couple  of  hours  I  was  free  to  return  to  Anna,  and  I  went 
to  her;  being  afraid  of  things  I  could  not  name  to  myself. 

When  I  reached  her  sitting-room  and  parted  the  chicks, 
I  saw  her  lying  on  a  low  couch  at  the  opposite  end.  In 
her  hand  she  held  a  little  bottle  that  she  was  holding 
against  the  light  and  gazing  at.  I  went  forward  and  saw 
it  was  a  vial  of  chloroform.  I  put  my  hand  on  her  wrist. 


158  AHHA    LOMBARD. 

"  Anna,  what  were  you  thinking  of?" 

She  raised  her  ghastly  face  and  looked  up  in  my  eyes. 

"  Of  how  nice  it  would  be,  if  you  would  let  me  die,"  she 
said. 

"  But  you  have  promised  me." 

"  Yes,  I  know.  My  life  is  not  my  own;  it  belongs  to 
you.  Could  you  give  me  a  little;  so  that  I  might  be  insen- 
sible, just  a  little  while?" 

"  I  will  give  you  this,"  I  answered,  taking  away  the 
chloroform  and  putting  another  little  bottle  into  her  ^iand. 
"  Go  upstairs  and  to  bed  and  drink  this,  and  you  will 
know  nothing  for  some  hours." 

Her  hand  clasped  on  the  bottle;  and  she  rose  and  went 
out  of  the  room,  as  if  in  a  dream. 

I  took  down  word  that  she  was  not  feeling  well  and  could 
not  be  with  us  at  dinner;  and  I  and  the  general  sat  down 
alone.  When  it  was  over,  I  told  him,  as  gently  and  cau- 
tiously as  I  could,  that  there  was  great  likelihood  of  Anna 
being  attacked  with  cholera;  and  I  begged  that  I  might  re- 
main in  the  house  that  night,  to  be  with  her  the  first  mo- 
ment. 

General  Lombard  heard  me  with  perfect  silence  and  com- 
posure. He  seemed,  like  his  daughter,  able  to  draw  over 
his  face  a  mask  of  stone,  when  he  wished.  He  called  up  a 
eervant  and  gave  orders  that  a  room  was  to  be  prepared 
immediately  for  the  sahib  next  the  Miss  Sahib's  room;  and 
when  the  man  had  withdrawn,  he  turned  to  me  and  said, 
quietly: 

"  Where  do  you  think  she  has  taken  the  disease?" 

"  Possibly  by  attending  to  the  servants  here,"  I  an- 
swered; "  and,  then,  the  whole  air  is  full  of  it." 

"  I  should  have  sent  her  away,"  he  said,  as  if  to  himself; 
and  then  I  noticed  how  all  the  ruddy  color  had  died  away 
from  his  face,  leaving  it  gray;  and  sudden  lines  stood  out, 
making  it  haggard  and  drawn. 

"  You  acted  like  all  we  British  act,"  I  answered;  "  scorn 
danger  and  brave  it,  and  sometimes  the  danger  has  its  re- 
venge." 

He  sighed  heavily  in  reply,  and,  after  a  minute,  rose 
from  his  seat. 

"  I  will  go  up  and  see  her,"  he  said;  and  I  was  left 
alone,  staring  through  the  open  door  into  the  luminous, 
hot  darkness  of  the  night. 


LOMBARD.  159 

I  felt  a  strange,  curious  triumph  and  cnlin.  All  around 
me  was  death.  It  lurked  in  every  shadow.  It  was  be- 
hind each  rose- petal;  the  breath  of  the  syringa  was  poison. 
There  was  death  in  the  heavy,  languid  air,  the  whole  at- 
mosphere was  feeding  one  with  death;  but  I  did  not  think 
I  should  die,  nor  she.  I  believed  she  would  pass  through 
the  shadow;  but  I  did  not  think  the  time  had  come  for  her 
to  die.  I  can  not  explain  this  confidence;  but  it  flooded 
my  whole  soul,  and  I  watched  the  great,  glittering  Scor- 
pion plunging  through  the  sky  before  me,  and  felt  tran- 
quil and  secure  in  the  great  stillness  around  me,  which  I 
knew  was  the  stillness  of  desolation  and  death.  Where 
lights  had  gleamed  out  through  the  foliage  of  the  com- 
pounds, now  there  was  blackness.  The  indefinite  sounds 
of  distant  music  and  laughter,  that  had  formerly  floated  up 
the  flower-laden  alleys,  were  replaced  by  a  brooding  silence 
in  the  poison-laden  air.  There  was  not  a  house  from 
which  the  occupants  had  not  fled  or  were  preparing  to  flee 
or  was  not  full  of  mourning  or  terror.  Kalatu,  in  all  its 
glory  of  tropic  beauty,  was  but  a  pest-  and  charnel-house. 

Yet  I  felt  calm.  Gaida  was  dead.  Nothing  now  but  grief 
stood  between  her  soul  and  mine;  and  grief  for  the  loss  of 
physical  passion  is  as  short  as  grief  for  the  loss  of  a  pas- 
sion of  the  soul  is  lasting. 

When  I  reached  my  room  that  night,  my  head  seemed 
reeling.  I  craved  nothing  but  sleep.  I  saw  the  doors 
leading  into  Anna's  room,  that  communicated  with  mine, 
and  I  knew  she  was  sleeping  behind  them.  Sleeping 
or  weeping?  But  all  was  dull  except  that  great  longing 
for  sleep  that  obliterated  all  else.  My  eyes  were  dim  and 
my  eyelids  seemed  fallen  on  them  already.  Without  any 
power  to  raise  them  I  descried  in  one  corner  the  outline  of 
the  bed  and  staggered  toward  it  as  if  blind  or  drunk. 
Then,  fully  dressed,  I  threw  myself,  face  downward,  on  it 
and  fell  asleep.  I  awakened  suddenly  with  a  violent 
shock.  It  was  still  dark.  A  terrible  cry  of  agony  came 
from  Anna's  room: 

"  Gerald!" 

I  sprung  from  the  bed  and  to  the  intermediate  door  and 
threw  it  wide  open.  A  night-lamp  burned  on  the  table 
and  shed  its  light  through  the  room.  I  saw  Anna  stand- 
ing in  the  centre  in  her  white  night-gown,  with  her  fair 
hair  falling  to  her  waist,  her  hands  pressed  to  her  sides, 


160  ANNA    LOMBARD. 

her  figure  bent  nearly  double  to  the  floor  in  a  paroxysm 
of  agony.  I  rushed  to  her  and  raised  her  in  my  arms. 
The  spasm  passed  over,  and  her  body  lost  its  tenseness  and 
leaned  heavily  against  me;  the  head  fell  to  my  shoulder; 
the  face  was  piteous,  pinched,  and  blue. 

"  Oh,  those  terrible  cramps!"  she  murmured.  "  And 
this  is  what  he  suffered!" 

A  rain  of  tears  burst  from  her  eyes  and  fell  warm  on  my 
hands  that  held  her.  The  next  instant  she  had  struggled 
from  my  arms  and  thrown  herself  on  the  bed. 

"  Oh,  Gerald,  let  me  die!" 

I  bent  over  her  and  raised  her  hidden  face,  blue  with  the 
shadow  of  the  disease  and  drenched  in  her  unavailing  tears. 

"  Anna,  do  you  not  owe  me  something?  Promise  to  try 
and  live  for  me." 

She  could  not  answer.  Suddenly  her  lips  were  drawn 
back  and  curled  up  from  the  perfect  white  teeth,  and  her 
body  arched  from  the  bed  in  a  writhing,  horrible  convul- 
sion. I  took  out  two  morphine  pills  and  passed  them  be- 
tween the  blackening  lips;  and  after  a  second  or  two  her 
body  fell  inert,  and,  as  if  lifeless,  back  to  the  bed.  Her 
eyes  were  closed.  The  sweat  rolled  heavily  from  her  face 
and  fell  to  the  pillow,  and  the  linen  grew  dark  with  it  all 
round  her  head. 

The  room  was  full  now  of  figures.  The  servants  had  all 
heard  that  terrible  cry  and  were  standing  mute,  sub- 
missive, waiting  to  be  used,  by  the  doors  and  at  the  bed- 
head. One  had  summoned  General  Lombard,  and  her  fa- 
ther came  now  across  the  room  with  a  steady  tread  and 
that  same  set  look  with  which  he  faced  the  bullets  and  the 
Afghans'  knives. 

"  Brandy,"  I  said  to  him  as  soon  as  he  reached  me, 
"  and  champagne.  Let  me  have  bottles  of  it  and  a  tin 
cup,  lest  she  should  break  the  glass;  and  tell  the  servants 
to  bring  boiling  water — large  tubs  of  it — and  the  heaviest 
blankets." 

He  turned  away  to  give  the  orders,  and  I  leaned  over  her 
and  whispered  in  her  ear: 

"  I  can  not  save  you,  if  you  wish  to  die.  Will  yourself 
to  jive,  Anna — forme." 

She  opened  her  eyes  and  looked  into  mine.  Perhaps 
something  of  all  my  burning  agony  was  in  them,  and  she 
read  it  there  and  pitied  me.  Her  voice  came  with  diffi- 


AKNA    LOMBARD.  161 

culty  and  was  low  and  hoarse.  It  was  the  voice  of  cholera 
that  spoke  through  her  lips. 

"  I  will  it,  then,  if  you  do." 

That  was  all;  but  it  poured  new  life  and  energy  through 
my  veins.  My  soul  was  prostrate  in  an  agony  of  prayer  to 
God. 

When  the  servant  brought  the  wine  and  brandy  to  the 
bedside,  I  poured  out  half  a  pint  in  equal  parts  into 
the  cup  and  held  it  to  her  lips.  She  lay  collapsed  and 
cold.  I  put  my  hand  upon  her  bosom.  It  was  cold  and 
drenched  in  clammy  sweat.  I  saw  the  disease  in  her  case 
would  run  a  short  and  violent  course.  She  had  already 
passed  the  first  or  convulsive  stage  and  entered  the  sec- 
ond or  cold  stage,  within  two  hours.  In  twelve  hours, 
or  perhaps  less,  all  would  be  decided.  I  slipped  my  arm 
beneath  her  head  and  raised  it.  She  drank  the  contents  of 
the  cup  and  the  same  quantity  twice  again,  and  the  liquid 
which  would  have  produced  intoxication  in  health  was  all 
lapped  up,  as  it  were,  by  the  disease.  Her  ejes  were  clear 
as  they  met  mine.  She  lay  passive,  inert,  cold. 

"  Those  blankets,"  I  said,  turning  to  the  silent  serv- 
ants, who  had  brought  in  a  bath  of  boiling  water  from 
which  the  steam  rose  in  clouds,  "  plunge  them  in  for  two 
or  three  seconds,  then  wring  them  out  and  give  them  to 
me." 

They  did  as  I  ordered,  though  it  must  have  left  their 
hands  almost  raw. 

"  Here,  sahib,"  they  said  a  minute  later,  holding  out 
tho  blanket,  and  then  I  lifted  Anna  from  the  bed. 

Her  night-gown  was  heavy  and  black  with  sweat,  and 
the  touch  of  her  body  through  it  was  as  ice.  With  one 
hand  I  tore  it  from  her,  from  the  neck  downward,  and  it 
fell  with  a  heavy  plash  to  the  floor;  and  so,  for  one  brief 
instant,  the  lovely  form  met  my  eyes  which  had  ached  so 
long  for  the  sight  of  it  in  vain — the  exquisite  casket  of  that 
soul  I  loved  far  better  than  my  own. 

Strange  that  this  should  be  my  first  sight  of  it;  my  first, 
and  perhaps  my  last.  It  was  but  a  flash;  the  next  instant 
the  blanket  enveloped  her  in  its  folds.  I  held  her  in  my 
arms,  and  through  the  clouds  of  burning  steam  that  rose 
between  our  faces  I  saw  her  open  her  eyes  and  seek  mine. 
She  put  her  lips  close  to  my  ear  and  I  heard  her  murmur; 
o 


162  AKNA    LOMBARD. 

"  I  am  glad  your  eyes  have  rested  on  me  once,  before  the 
grave  closes  over  me  forever." 

I  bent  my  head  and  put  my  burning  lips  on  hers,  now 
nothing  but  a  shriveled,  blue  line;  and  for  one  second 
human  love,  the  love  I  had  for  her,  conquered  the  sense  of 
danger,  the  presence  of  disease,  the  nearness  of  death. 

"  Not  even  the  grave  shall  shut  you  from  me,"  I  an- 
swered. "  We  will  lie  in  it  together." 

She  sighed — it  seemed  to  me  a  natural,  relieved  sigh — 
and,  after  a  minute,  murmured: 

"  I  am  warmer  now;  it  is  nice  to  feel  warm  again." 

I  called  for  another  blanket  and  wrapped  that  tightly 
over  the  other  one,  and  then  placed  two  dry  ones  that  they 
brought  burning  and  scorched  to  smoking  straight  from 
the  fire. 

"  Dry  and  heat  the  bed,"  I  said  to  the  servants;  and 
when  this  was  done,  I  laid  her  back  on  it. 

Her  head  sunk  to  the  pillow,  with  a  weary  sigh.  I 
looked  at  her  keenly.  Still  there  was  not  that  reaction 
that  I  wanted,  though  her  face  now  seemed  whiter  and  less 
blue.  I  filled  the  cup  again  to  the  brim  with  brandy  and 
she  drank  it,  as  a  child  drinks  water.  Then  she  turned  a 
little  on  her  side. 

"  I  am  sleepy,"  she  said.  "  Give  me  your  hand  and  let 
me  go  to  sleep." 

She  was  swathed  in  the  coverings  and  her  arms  bound 
by  them  straight  to  her  side;  but  I  laid  my  hand  upon  her 
shoulder  and  she  seemed  content.  The  next  second  she 
was  asleep.  1  motioned  silently  to  the  general  to  ap- 
proach. 

"  She  will  live,  I  believe,"  I  whispered.  "  This  is  the 
sleep  that  ends,  not  in  death,  but  recovery." 

The  old  man,  who  had  stood  silent,  with  set  face,  beside 
us  all  the  time,  clasped  his  hands  involuntarily,  suddenly, 
and  turned  away. 

Anna  slept  on  for  ten  hours,  and  I  sat  without  stirring 
in  my  place.  The  dawn,  had  long  since  broken  before  she 
fell  asleep,  and  I  saw  it  break  into  the  glorious  Indian  day. 
Noon  came,  with  its  deadly  heat  and  stillness.  The  serv- 
ants came  and  went  in  the  room,  with  their  noiseless  steps, 
their  bare  feet  unheard  on  the  matting.  Sometimes  they 
slept  on  the  floor  beside  me;  but  more  often  sat  on  their 


ANNA    LOMBAKD.  163 

haunches  watching,  with  great  patient  eyes,  the  figure  on 
the  bed. 

It  was  two  hours  past  noon,  when  the  glare  of  the  day 
was  beginning  to  soften  ever  so  slightly,  and  a  faint,  hot 
wind  off  the  desert  came  sighing  through  thejilmils,  that 
she  awoke  and  turned  to  me  with  a  sigh  and  a  smile. 

"  Gerald,"  she  said  in  a  whisper,  "  you  followed  me  into 
the  Valley  of  the  Shadow  and  brought  me  back.  I  am  all 
your  own  now,  forever  and  ever." 

And,  feeling  as  if  some  perceptible  bond  were  put  round 
us,  drawing  us  together,  that  nothing  cauld  break,  from 
which  we  ourselves  could  not  escape  if  we  would — I  stooped 
and  kissed  her. 


CHAPTEE  VIII. 

regained  her  health  very  slowly.  This  surprised 
her  father,  who  expected  the  rapid  rebound  natural  to  her 
youth  and  strength;  but  it  did  not  surprise  me.  I  knew 
it  was  the  weight  of  the  previous  shock  and  grief,  which 
was  crushing  her  vitality  under  it.  It  was  that  that  she 
needed  to  recover  from,  far  more  than  the  cholera. 

In  those  days  immediately  following  her  illness  we  were 
inseparable.  The  fact  that  I  alone  knew  everything,  and 
that  there  was  no  necessity  for  disguise  or  constraint  with 
me,  drew  Anna  to  me;  and  she  clung  to  me  and  found 
comfort  in  my  presence.  The  general  noted  this  and 
pressed  me  to  stay  on  in  his  house;  so  that  Anna  and  I 
were  almost  constantly  together.  She  was  extremely 
weak,  and  would  sit  for  hours  in  a  cane  chair  in  the  ver- 
anda, doing  nothing;  with  her  eyes  circled  by  a  bluish 
shade  and  often  brimming  over  with  tears,  gazing  out  into 
the  sunlit  compound.  At  such  times  it  was  a  consolation, 
she  told  me,  to  have  me  near  her;  and  her  little,  cold  hand 
would  steal  into  mine  and  often  her  head  would  drop  on 
my  shoulder. 

"  The  mere  contact  with  you,  seems  to  take  all  the  pain 
out  of  me,"  she  said  once;  and  constantly  she  would  fa!7 
into  a  quiet  sleep  thus,  with  my  arm  for  a  pillow. 

Those  days  were  very  sweet  to  me  and  inclosed  a  happi- 
ness all  their  own.  Every  hour  of  them  welded  our  two 
souls  more  into  one,  and  Anna  opened  her  heart  more  and 
more  to  me.  My  attitude  toward  Gaida  and  my  last 


164  ANNA    LOMBARD. 

efforts  to  save  him,  however  unwise  and,  perhaps,  repre- 
hensible they  had  been,  had,  at  least,  secured  me  one 
thing,  and  that  was  Anna's  complete  and  absolute  confi- 
dence. I  had  become  almost  part  of  herself,  and  she  with- 
held none  of  her  thoughts  from  me.  They  became  mine. 
She  talked  freely  to  me,  when  we  were  alone,  of  Gaida  and 
her  relations  to  him;  and  I  let  her  do  so,  even  encouraged 
her,  knowing  that  is  the  only  way  to  treat  and  finally  heal 
a  deep  sorrow. 

The  constant  talk,  the  long  stream  of  confidences, 
poured  out  from  a  heart  full  of  pain  and  grief,  is  as  the 
blood  flowing  from  a  poisoned  wound,  which  carries  the 
poison  with  it,  and  allows  the  wound  in  time  to  heal.  And 
in  that  time  I  realized  very  clearly  that  she  had  yielded  to 
his  passion  for  her,  and  not  to  hers  for  him.  Her  feelings 
had  been  rather  an  indefinite,  abstract  love  of  his  beauty; 
a  romantic,  poetic  sentiment  which  he — as  man  invariably 
does — had  dragged  down  to  the  level  of  physical  desire. 

She  was  very  sweet  to  me,  indeed,  during  all  these  days; 
and  so  grateful  for  all  I  had  done,  that  I  began  to  feel 
ashamed  of  myself  and  wonder  I  had  not  done  more  for 
her,  been  more  patient  and  more  kind. 

She  said  to  me,  laughingly,  but  with  serious  eyes,  that  I 
had  made  her  my  little  slave-girl  and  chained  her  to  me 
with  chains  of  gratitude  for  all  time.  And  day  by  day  I 
watched  her  freeing  herself  more  and  more  from  the  old 
ties,  memories,  and  feelings;  and  becoming  more  absorbed 
in  the  present  and  in  the  enjoyment  of  my  love.  She 
waited  and  watched  for  my  coming,  and  would  run  down 
the  house-steps  into  the  compound  to  meet  me  with  face 
and  eyes  alight  with  pleasure;  and  when  others  were  pres- 
ent with  me  she  hardly  noticed  them.  As  she  grew  better 
and  stronger  each  day,  I  realized  what  an  infinite  relief  it 
was  to  know  that  she  was  free  and  safe,  with  her  secret,  in 
all  probability,  forever  buried  with  the  dead  Pathan.  I 
could  not  help  sometimes  the  shock  of  asking  myself 
whether,  when  I  tried  to  save  him,  had  1  not  been  really 
working  against  her?  Was  it  not  foolishly  inconsistent  of 
me,  knowing  and  fearing  and  feeling  all  I  had,  to  exert 
myself  to  fight  against  his  death;  which  was  unquestionably 
the  best  thing  that  could  have  happened  for  her?  Yet  to 
my  nature  it  would  have  been  impossible  to  have  acted 
Otherwise,  The  eternal  question  is  ever  presenting  itself; 


ANNA    LOMBARD.  165 

Are  we  to  act  as  we  think  best  for  one  we  love,  or  to  act 
as  the  loved  one  wishes  and  commands?  I  do  not  pre- 
tend to  answer  this  question  for  others;  but  for  myself, 
and  loving  Anna  as  I  did,  the  last  was  the  only  way  possi- 
ble to  me.  Love  in  the  highest  sense  makes  the  lover  only 
a  subordinate  part  of  the  loved  one.  The  lover  asks  noth- 
ing, expects  nothing,  wills  nothing,  and  he  has  no  rights, 
no  claims;  the  loved  one's  will  is  all;  and  often — how 
often! — does  this  highest  love  conquer  irresistibly  and  end 
by  enslaving  the  loved  one,  as  Anna  declared  now  she  was 
enslaved  to  me. 

I  could  not  shut  my  eyes  to  the  fact  that  if  I  had  suc- 
ceeded in  saving  Gaida's  life,  as  I  had  tried  to  do,  the  prac- 
tical result  would  have  been  to  prolong  her  dangerous  posi- 
tion. But,  even  then,  the  theory  of  doing  all  that  the 
loved  one  wishes,  might  have  been  vindicated  in  the  end. 
Who  could  say  how  much  my  action  would  have  strength- 
ened my  hold  on  her  and  loosened  Gaida's?  Who  could 
say  that  feelings  might  not  have  sprung  up  in  her;  feel- 
ings as  powerful  to  free  her  from  him,  as  death  itself  had 
been? 

"  These  things  are  all  so  very  curious,"  she  said  to  me 
one  afternoon,  when  we  were  sitting  under  the  shade  of  a 
heavy  stone,  magnolia-covered  porch,  looking  out  into  the 
burning  desert.  Our  chairs  were  set  close  together,  her 
hand  was  in  mine,  and  her  head  was  leaning  against  my 
arm.  "  We  are  surrounded — hedged  in,  as  it  were — all 
our  life  long  by  invisible  forces.  We  have  no  idea  how  help- 
less we  are,  until  we  get  into  opposition  with  them.  Pas- 
sion, for  instance,  is  so  strange.  It  seems  to  me  like  a 
great  monster  possessed  of  one  long  tentacle,  with  an  im- 
mensely powerful  claw  at  the  end.  When  we  come  into 
contact  with  it,  out  shoots  the  tentacle,  and  the  claw  comes 
down  upon  us  with  tremendous  force  and  holds  Us  motion- 
less; it  has  fastened  us  firmly.  As  long  as  we  remain  per- 
fectly still  and  do  not  struggle,  we  hardly  feel  it;  we  do 
not  recognize  what  strength  it  has  nor  how  it  is  holding  us. 
But  try  to  get  away,  try  to  throw  it  off;  then  you  feel  the 
claw  upon  you.  You  feel  that  it  has  sunk  into  your  being 
and  paralyzed  you;  that  there  is  no  getting  away  from  it; 
that,  if  you  struggle,  the  claw  will  reduce  you  to  a  bleed- 
ing, crushed  mass  beneath  it.  Sometimes,  of  course,  by 
strong  will  one  can  cut  the  tentacle  and  be  free;  and  then 


166  ANNA    LOMBARD. 

one  has  to  carry  about  the  horrible  claw  inside  one,  fester- 
ing in  one's  heart.  It  is  terrible,  when  one  really  thinks 
of  it  all  and  realizes  how  helpless  one  is.  That  claw  may 
come  down  on  one  at  any  time,  and  one  does  not  notice  it 
at  all,  until  one  tries  to  get  away,  any  more  than  you  notice 
my  hand  on  yours  now;  but  if  you  were  to  get  up,  then 
you  would  know  I  was  holding  you." 

I  was  silent;  feeling  how  much  truth  there  was  in  what 
she  had  said.  Had  not  this  very  claw  she  spoke  of  come 
down  upon  me  and  fastened  itself  into  my  breast  and  bound 
me  to  Anna;  so  that,  though  my  life  might  haTe  been 
sp  >iled  through  her,  I  could  not  tear  myself  loose.  Even 
had  I  cut  the  tentacle,  the  festering  claw  would  still  have 
poisoned  me. 

"  And  then,  again,"  and  she  went  on,  dreamily, 
"  love  is  a  different  organism,  floating  about  in  life's 
ocean,  that  seems  like  one  of  those  shining,  iridescent  sea- 
anemones,  armed  with  a  thousand  little  soft,  clinging 
tentacles.  And  it  stretches  out  first  one  soft,  little  feeler 
and  then  another,  and  at  last  you  find  them  all  clinging 
round  you  and  yourself  bound  fast  by  them.  And  if  they 
are  very  numerous  and  all  have  fastened  round  you,  you 
can  never  get  away.  Love  has  thousands  of  those  little 
tentacles.  For  instance,  one  is  attraction,  another  is 
gratitude,  and  another  is  memory  of  joys  together,  and 
another  is  memory  of  griefs  together,  and  so  on." 

And  I  knew  there  was  truth  in  this  metaphor,  also. 

"  I  don't  think  we  could  very  easily  get  free,"  she  add- 
ed, looking  up  at  me  with  a  smile  beneath  her  arched  eye- 
lids, "  The  claw  has  come  down  upon  us,  and  all  the  lit- 
tle, soft  feelers  in  addition." 

"  I  like  my  captivity,"  I  whispered. 

"  Yes,  the  claw  and  the  feelers  both  hypnotize  one  into 
an  exquisite  trance,  when  one  has  not  to  struggle  against 
them.  But  when  the  claw  of  passion  came  out  upon  me 
from  Gaida's  beauty  and  pinioned  me  and  I  wanted  to  get 
away  from  it,  that  was  horrible." 

She  had  grown  quite  white,  and  shivered  in  the  hot,  dry 
air.  I  bent  over  her. 

"  Don't  dwell  on  it.    What  does  it  matter?   It  is  over." 

*  Yes,  I  think  it  is  over,"  she  answered.  The  next  min- 
ute she  closed  her  eyes.  "  I  feel  so  tired;  I  should  like  to 
go  to  sleep." 


ANNA    LOMBARD.  167 

i 

I  resettled  my  arm  behind  her  head,  and  she  turned  her 
cheek  on  it  and  fell  into  that  sudden  sleep  of  physical  weak- 
ness. 

A  few  days  later  I  moved  back  into  my  own  bungalow. 
I  had  many  things  to  arrange  there.  Anna  seemed  suffi- 
ciently recovered  now  to  return  to  her  normal  life.  She 
had  persuaded  the  general  to  give  a  ball  to  the  station,  to 
celebrate  her  recovery;  and  I  hoped  that  our  marriage 
would  follow  it  in  a  few  days. 

She  improved  now  at  a  faster  rate  each  day;  and  even 
the  week  that  intervened  before  the  ball,  made  a  great  dif- 
ference to  her.  On  the  morning  of  that  day,  I  saw  her  for 
a  few  minutes,  and  she  seemed  to  have  regained  almost  all 
her  former  glow  of  color  and  life. 

"  Come  into  the  drawing-room,"  she  said,  "  and  I  will 
play  you  a  little  thing  and  sing  you  something  that  seems 
to  express  the  feelings  in  my  heart." 

We  went  in  together,  and  she  sat  down  at  the  piano  and 
played.  There  was  something  electrical  in  her  way  of  play- 
ing, that  morning.  The  music  sounded  like  the  opening  of 
a  triumphal  march.  Her  fingers  rose  from  the  notes 
sharply,  and  there  was  an  eclat  and  fire  in  the  piece,  what- 
ever it  was,  that  arrested  and  held  the  ear.  Suddenly  the 
music  changed  to  a  joyous  accompaniment  for  a  song;  and 
her  voice,  unusually  clear  and  resonant  to-day,  swelled 
through  the  room. 

"  Vitoria,  Vitoria,  Vitoria, 
Non  lagrimare  piu 
E  scholta  d'amore, 
La  Servitu." 

That  was  all.  There  was  a  truly  victorious  roll  of 
chords,  and  then  she  sprung  up  and  closed  the  piano.  She 
smiled  at  me  and  I  smiled  back.  It  had  been  a  very 
beautiful  burst  of  music  and  song,  exactly  such  as  one 
might  catch  through  an  open  window  when  a  victorious 
army  was  marching  by;  and  I  knew  all  that  the  words 
meant  to  convey. 

She  looked  animated,  fresh,  and  vigorous  in  her  simple 
morning  cotton  dress,  and  I  wanted  to  take  her  in  my 
arms;  but  she  receded,  smiling. 

"  Not  now;  not  now.  I  know  you  are  busy  and  must 
go  back  to  the  office;  but  this  evening  come  early  and  wait 
for  me  in  the  second  drawing-room." 


168  ANNA    LOMBARD. 

So,  early,  indeed,  that  evening  I  went  to  her  and  paced 
impatiently  the  little,  second  drawing-room,  as  she  had  in- 
dicated, that  led  into  the  larger  one  beyond. 

When  she  had  finished  her  toilet  she  came  to  the  door 
between  the  two  rooms  and  opened  it,  standing  in  the 
frame  of  the  door-way.  Her  dress  was  white  and  long, 
very  long,  as  usual;  cut  at  the  breast  lower  than  I  had  ever 
seen  it,  and  entirely  sleeveless;  the  whole  responsibility  of 
the  bodice  being  thrown  on  two  narrow,  slender  shoulder- 
straps.  I  looked  at  her,  and  the  magic  that  the  sight  pos- 
sessed for  ine  emptied  itself  slowly  into  my  veins.  It  was 
not  that  the  figure  was  exceedingly  opulent,  or  that  there 
was  any  remarkable  development;  quite  the  contrary:  but 
there  was  something  in  the  wonderful  purity  of  the  skin, 
whiter  than  the  satin  below  it  and  absolutely  unstained  by 
the  faintest  course  of  a  vein  or  the  smallest  mole,  and 
something  in  the  modeling  of  the  shoulders  and  the  turn 
of  the  neck  that  seemed  to  speak  to  one.  The  beauty  of 
her  body,  like  that  of  her  face,  was  not  in  the  form,  not  in 
the  flesh.  It  was  the  beauty  of  intense  expression.  The 
cool  courage  of  her  spirit  seemed  expressed  in  that  firm, 
smooth  expanse  down  to  the  curve  of  her  low  breasts;  and 
all  the  passionate  abandonment  of  which  she  was  capable, 
in  the  pose  of  her  shoulders  and  the  long,  soft,  white  line 
from  shoulder  to  elbow. 

She  came  toward  me,  faintly  smiling,  and  gave  herself 
into  my  arms;  and  her  face  and  body  spoke  to  me  so  clear- 
ly there  was  no  need  of  words  between  us.  She  meant  to 
convey  to  me — and  I  understood  her — that  she  had  for  my 
sake  conquered  her  grief  and  broken  her  memories;  that 
she  was  no  longer  sacred  to  another  or  to  the  contemplation 
of  the  past;  that  she  had  come  back  to  life  and  the  enjoy- 
ment of  it;  and  that  my  period  of  self-restraint  and  self- 
denial  was  over.  And  I,  seeing  that  she  wished  and  ex- 
pected it,  permitted  myself  the  touch  and  the  kiss  of  pas* 
sion. 

A  little  later,  when  Anna,  with  an  old  general,  led  off 
the  dancers,  she  was  radiant;  and  the  eyes  of  the  crowd  fol- 
lowed her  instinctively,  attracted  and  held  by  the  curious 
exuberance  of  vitality  that  seemed  speaking  in  face  and 
form.  As  we  danced  together  and  she  gave  herself  up  to 
me,  fitting  all  the  smooth  undulations  of  her  movements 
to  mine;  as  my  arm  pressed  the  warm,  bare  flesh  of  her 


ANNA    LOMBAKD.  169 

shoulder  and  our  eyes  looked  into  each  other's  and  our 
breath  intermingled,  my  thoughts  were  borne  back  to  the 
first  evening  we  had  met,  and  I  contrasted  that  slight, 
loose  bond  of  attraction,  based  on  the  pleasure  of  the 
senses,  with  the  steel-like  chain  that  held  us  now. 

How  infinitely  dearer  to  me  now  she  wa?;  after  the  pain 
and  the  sorrow  gone  through  together,  after  the  suffering 
and  the  waiting,  after  the  exquisite  trust  and  confidence, 
the  intimacies  of  the  soul,  and  the  birth  of  that  gratitude 
and  love  in  her  heart  which  is  deathless.  At  the  end 
of  the  long  waltzes  together,  we  went  out  and  sat  on  the 
darkest,  quietest  side  of  the  lawn  in  silence,  unwilling  to 
speak  or  to  be  spoken  to. 

At  four  in  the  morning — when  the  daylight  had  already 
broken  over  the  plains  and  filled  the  lawn  and  gardens  with 
its  cool,  white  light,  though  it  was  shut  jealously  from  the 
ball-room — we  stepped  through  the  windows  for  the  last 
dance.  Anna  was  claimed  by  the  colonel  of  the  regiment, 
and  I  went  to  seek  my  partner.  At  the  close  of  the  dance 
— a  galop — I  had  just  passed  Anna  and  the  colonel,  and 
she  had  smiled  at  me  over  his  shoulder,  when  she  fell  sud- 
denly and  her  whole  weight,  thrown  unexpectedly  on  her 
partner,  brought  him  to  his  knees.  Every  one  thought  she 
had  simply  slipped  on  the  polished  floor;  and  though  she 
was  immediately  surrounded,  the  general  expectation  was 
to  see  her  rise  directly  herself  without,  or  with  very  little, 
aid.  I  was  at  her  side  the  first,  and  as  I  bent  over  her  I 
saw  it  was  no  question  of  slippery  floor  or  lost  balance. 
She  had  fainted;  and  she  lay  now  before  us  all,  white  and 
unconscious,  helpless,  oblivious  of  everything,  on  the  shin- 
ing floor. 

I  felt  a  curious  shock  pass  over  me,  a  prescience  that  in 
some  way  the  incident  was  more  serious  than  it  seemed. 
As  I  lifted  her,  and,  with  the  help  of  another  man,  carried 
her  to  a  divan  at  the  side  of  the  room,  she  lay  unconscious, 
with  her  head  supported  on  my  arm. 

One  of  the  women — with  unnecessary  haste,  I  thought — 
cut  open  her  satin  bodice,  that  could  not  have  impeded  her 
breathing  in  the  least,  and  unbuttoned  her  slays;  but,  as 
Anna's  figure  was  one  that  needed  no  compression  or  arti- 
ficial restraint,  and  received  none,  this  measure  hardly 
helped  matters. 

She  did  not  recover  until  a  couple  of  glasses  of  water  had 


170  ANNA    LOMBARD. 

been  thrown  on  her  face,  and  then  she  slowly  opened  her 
eyes.  I  looked  into  them  and  was  stai'tled  by  the  expres- 
sion of  terror  and  mental  distress  that  met  me.  It  seemed 
incomprehensible.  Then,  the  next  moment,  she  sat  up, 
and  realizing  where  she  was,  forced  a  smile,  and  gathering 
her  cut  and  disordered  clothing  together  over  her  breast, 
thanked  those  nearest  her  for  their  help.  Her  father  was 
beside  her  and  also  a  doctor,  one  of  the  guests;  and  they 
supported  her  between  them  from  the  room,  while  the 
crowd,  with  expressions  of  sympathy  and  allusions  to  the 
great  heat  and  the  fatigue  of  so  long  a  ball  just  after  her 
illness,  began  to  break  up  and  depart. 

I  followed  the  general,  after  a  few  moments,  to  her 
room,  and  was  surprised  to  hear  that  Anna  had  gone  to 
bed  and  would  not  see  me  again,  just  then.  The  general 
told  me  this  outside  her  room,  so,  after  a  good-night  to 
him,  I  turned  disconsolately  to  go  over  to  my  own  bunga- 
low. 

I  was  leaving  the  Lombards'  hall  when  the  doctor  over- 
took me  and  offered  to  go  across  with  me,  his  house  being 
in  the  same  direction  as  mine.  He  seemed  to  think  Anna's 
fainting  fit  was  not  at  all  to  be  wondered  at,  considering 
the  heat  and  exertion  of  dancing  so  long. 

"  But  all  that  might  make  her  tired,  but  it  shouldn't 
cause  her  to  faint,  if  she  is  all  right?"  I  objected. 

"  Are  you  a  doctor,  my  dear  sir,  or  am  I?"  returned 
the  little  man,  snappishly.  "  I  examined  that  girl,  a  little 
while  ago,  myself.  There  is  nothing  the  matter  with  her. 
She  has  a  marvelous  constitution,  wonderful  vitality,  every 
organ  perfect.  You  will  be  very  foolish  if  you  allow  a  lit- 
tle fainting  fit  like  that  to  alarm  you." 

"  I  don't  know  that  it  does  alarm  me,"  I  answered. 
"  I  merely  don't  understand  it,  and  I  don't  think  the  ex- 
planation you  give  of  it  adequate,  that's  all." 

The  doctor  edged  up  nearer  to  me  and  stuck  his  elbow 
into  my  side.  The  general's  champagne  had  made  him 
loquacious  and  facetious. 

"  Well,  if  you  want  another  reason  for  her  faint,  I'll 
give  it  to  you.  Nervous  excitement — that's  more  to  do 
with  that  young  woman's  health  than  anything  else. 
Dances  with  you.  Kisses  on  the  lawn.  Eh?  And  so  on. 
Thought  so.  Go  ahead  and  marry  her  just  as  soon  as  you 
can.  That's  the  best  thing  you  can  do," 


AHNA    LOMBARD.  171 

It  is  so  extremely  pleasant  to  be  told  that  one  ought  to  do 
what  one  wants  to  do,  and  so  extremely  rare  also,  that  I 
forgave  the  doctor  his  familiarity  on  the  spot  and  felt  quite 
friendly  to  him  and  inclined  to  believe  all  he  said.  When 
we  came  to  my  house,  I  shook  hands  cordially  and  wished 
him  a  good  morning's  sleep. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

I  WAS  just  finishing  breakfast  the  following  day  and  in 
the  happiest  frame  of  mind.  Everything  seemed  now  to 
promise  sunshine  in  the  future,  bright  as  that  streaming 
golden  light  outside.  I  sat  back  in  my  chair  and  gazed 
with  satisfaction  round  the  room.  For  weeks  past  it  had 
been  my  employment  and  delight,  for  all  spare  hours,  to 
work  upon  the  beauty  and  the  comfort  of  the  house  she 
was  so  soon  to  enter.  All  that  money  and  care  and  orders 
from  the  largest  Bombay  furnisbing-house  could  command 
had  been  obtained;  and  now,  as  my  eyes  rested  on  the 
floor,  it  gave  back  the  glow  of  Persian  and  Turkish  rugs, 
velvet  cloths  worked  in  gold  of  Burmese  art  draped  the 
tables,  and  curtains  of  the  finest  lace  floated  beside  the 
bay-windows.  The  drawing-room  and  Anna's  boudoir  had 
been  the  objects  of  much  care  and  thought;  but  the  point 
where  every  energy  had  been  concentrated  to  bring  about 
perfection,  had  been  the  room  which  would  be  our  sleeping- 
room.  I  occupied  still  the  veranda-room  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  house;  but  every  day  I  came  and  looked  into 
this  one,  to  see  if  anything  struck  me  as  wanting  or  if  any 
improvement  could  be  made. 

The  bed  I  had  designed  and  arranged  after  the  manner 
of  my  own  in  Burmah,  where  I  had  passed  so  many  lone- 
ly, wakeful  nights;  only  the  draperies,  instead  of  being 
red,  were  blue,  to  match  my  Anna's  eyes  and  contrast  with 
her  fair  hair.  And  when  it  was  finished  it  was  a  thing  of 
beauty,  with  its  silken  curtains  and  its  fine  veils  of  azure- 
tinted  mosquito-net.  The  goddess  Parvati,  the  Indian 
Venus,  molded  in  silver  and  supported  by  silver  chains 
from  the  roof,  swung  above  it,  holding  in  her  hands  a 
lamp  of  scented  oil,  where  the  flame  burned  in  a  perforated 
silver  globe. 

Everything  throughout  the  house  was  ready  for  the  pres- 
ence that  was  to  light  and  beautify  it  all;  and  as  I  re- 


172  ANHA    LOMBARD. 

viewed  things  in  my  mind  this  morning  and  could  recall 
nothing  that  was  wanting,  I  pushed  back  my  chair  with  a 
satisfied  smile. 

"  The  Mem  Sahib  is  here,"  said  the  servant,  suddenly, 
behind  me;  and.  turning,  I  saw  Anna  step  over  the  thresh- 
old. With  a  cry  of  delight,  I  stretched  out  both  hands  as 
I  went  to  meet  her.  She  put  hers  into  them  and  said,  in 
a  strained  voice: 

"  Send  all  the  servants  away,  Gerald.  I  have  something 
to  tell  you." 

Her  face  looked  deadly  white  in  the  morning  sunshine; 
and  with  a  sick  sinking  of  the  heart  I  ordered  all  the  serv- 
ants to  leave  us.  Then  I  sat  down  in  an  arm-chair  and 
drew  the  trembling  girl  into  my  arms. 

"  Now,  what  new  trouble  is  it?"  I  said,  gently,  strok- 
ing her  soft  hair  with  one  hand. 

"  Oh!  so  dreadful,  so  utterly  dreadful  that  I  can't  tell 
you,"  she  muttered,  with  both  hands  clasped  over  her  face; 
and  her  voice  had  all  the  accents  of  shame  and  terror. 

"  Gerald,  I  am  nothing  but  a  worry  and  a  misery  to 
you.  Why  didn't  you  let  me  die  when  I  had  the  cholera?" 

"  Because  I  wanted  you  for  myself,"  I  answered,  gently; 
"  because  I  shall  always  want  you,  whether  you  are -a  worry 
or  not." 

There  was  silence  for  a  minute;  then  I  pressed  her  a  lit- 
tle closer,  and  said,  softly: 

"  Well,  what  is  it?" 

"  I  can't  say  it.  I  can't  breathe  it,"  she  replied,  in  the 
same  desperate  voice.  "  Can't  you  guess  what  I  have  dis- 
covered?" 

Then  it  all  flashed  upon  me,  and  the  reason  of  her  swoon 
last  night;  and  for  an  instant  the  whole  bright,  throbbing 
sunshine  seemed  blotted  out;  the  worth  and  use  and  beauty 
of  life  all  seemed  obliterated.  For  a  second  I  could  have 
thrown  her  from  me  in  anger  and  loathing;  so  bitter  was 
my  disappointment,  crushing  in  just  now  on  my  bright 
hopes  and  expectations.  But  only  for  a  minute,  for  my 
love  for  her  was  something  more  than  love  and  hope  for 
my  own  pleasure. 

"  You  are  angry,"  she  said.  "  Kill  me;  strangle  me; 
I  am  ready  to  die.  I  should  be  glad  to." 

Her  voice  and  its  stricken  despair  roused  me. 

**  No,  I'm  not  angry.     This  is  but  the  consequence  of 


ANNA    LOMBAED.  173 

the  past.  I  forgave  your  marriage  long  ago.  It  would  be 
absurd  to  quarrel  with  the  consequences." 

I  spoke  mechanically,  and  what  I  said  was  logical 
enough;  but  yet,  in  this  world,  is  it  not  always  the  conse- 
quences and  not  the  sins  that  we  do  quarrel  with?  Sins 
we  can  forgive;  it  is  virtually  the  results  that  are  unpar- 
donable. 

"  I  can't  understand  it,"  she  said,  in  the  same  smoth- 
ered voice;  "  and  after  the  cholera,  too,  Gerald.  1  accept- 
ed that.  I  was  glad  of  it.  I  thought  it  made  this  impos- 
sible. Oh,  it  is  horrible;  I  can't  bear  it." 

She  was  sitting  on  my  knees,  where  I  had  drawn  her; 
but  now  she  tried  to  rise.  I  caught  sight  of  her  averted 
face,  and  the  unutterably  agonized  look  upon  it  was  terri- 
ble. It  went  to  my  heart.  I  knew  she  had  been  made  for 
better  things. 

"  Just  when  I  was  trying  to  free  myself  from  all  that 
abasement  in  the  past,  when  I  thought  1  was  free,  and 
giving  myself  entirely  to  thoughts  of  you  and  loving  you 
as  I  do  and  wanting  to  wholly  belong  to  you;  then  to  be 
forced  back,  as  it  were,  into  all  that  has  gone  by;  to  live 
it  all  over  again  for  months  to  come;  now,  when  all  the 
passion  that  held  me  to  Gaida  is  dead,  at  last.  It  is  some- 
thing beyond  words.  I  could  tear  myself  in  pieces.  You 
understand,  don't  you?"  she  went  on  after  a  moment. 
"  If  Gaida  had  been  worth  it — worthy  of  my  love — I 
should  never  have  taken  it  from  him.  I  should  not  have 
cared  what  I  had  done  for  him,  what  I  had  suffered.  I 
gave  him  all  that  I  had  in  the  world;  I  threw  all  that  I 
had  at  his  feet;  but  he  was  not  worthy,  and  in  a  little  while 
my  love  died.  Then  still,  for  a  long  time,  the  passion  lin- 
gered on;  but  it  could  not  survive;  it  is  dead,  and  I  loathe 
the  very  memory  of  him — his  very  name;  and  now —  Good 
God!  His  child!  What  can  I  do?  I  feel  I  can  not  live 
and  keep  sane." 

She  really  looked  so  intensely  ill,  so  peculiarly  different 
from  her  usual  self,  that  all  other  feelings  were  swallowed 
up  in  alarm  for  her  life  and  reason.  Strangely  enough,  I 
had  seen  her  once  before  look  like  this,  and  that  was  when 
there  had  been  the  threatened  severance  from  Gaida. 

"  There  is  nothing  to  be  done  but  to  accept  it  all  and  as 
bravely  and  as  calmly  as  you  can.  After  all,  what  are  a 
few  months  out  of  a  life-time?  They  will  pass  over  and 


174  ANNA    LOMBARD. 

you  will  forget  them,  as  you  have  been  forgetting  your  days 
of  cholera.  And  it  is  not  as  if  you  had  to  bear  it  alone. 
I  am  here,  knowing  everything  and  sympathizing  with 
everything.  Do  you  think  there  is  anything  we  can  not 
meet  together?" 

I  had  pressed  her  head  to  my  shoulder,  and  she  let  it 
stay  there,  hiding  her  face  against  the  shelter. 

"  I  think  our  marriage  had  better  take  place  at  once. 
The  whole  station  is  expecting  it — " 

I  broke  off,  for  she  had  started  in  my  arms  as  if  an  elec- 
tric current  had  passed  through  her. 

"  Marriage!"  she  exclaimed;  but  her  voice  was  only  a 
dry  whisper.  "  Oh,  I  can't,  I  can't  marry  you  now.  How 
can  I?  Accept  every  advantage  from  you,  take  everything 
and  bring  you  nothing,  nothing  but  this —  What  can  you 
think  of  me?" 

"  Why,"  I  said,  with  a  sad  smile,  "  after  all  this  time, 
we  do  not  seem  to  understand  each  other  a  bit.  If  you  are 
in  distress,  is  not  that  just  the  time  to  come  to  me?  When 
others  are  likely  to  reproach  or  misunderstand  you,  you 
come  to  me  because  you  know  I  never  shall.  If  you  were 
in  a  storm,  should  1  not  hold  out  my  arms  to  you  and  try 
to  cover  you  with  my  cloak?  That  is  my  idea  of  love, 
Anna.  That  both  should  give  everything  and  expect  noth- 
ing in  return.  You  gave  all  to  Gaida;  you  would  have 
given  all  to  me,  but  for  my  folly.  What  has  happened 
since,  I  look  upon  as  my  punishment  for  that.  This  is 
part,  it  seems  to  me,  of  our  mutual  punishment.  Let  us 
accept  it  and  bear  it  together." 

Anna  had  clasped  both  her  arms  round  my  neck,  and 
was  lying  passive  and  quiet. 

"  You  are  so  very  good  to  me  that  it  seems  I  can  not 
let  you—" 

"  No,  it  is  not  goodness,"  I  answered,  sadly.  "I  am 
only  doing  what  1  must.  You  have  become  a  part  of  my- 
self, and  I  want  to  shield  you  from  everything  that  would 
hurt  you  and  end  in  your  loss  to  me;  just  as  I  would  try  to 
save  my  arms  from  amputation." 

"  It  is  such  happiness  to  be  so  loved,"  she  answered, 
under  her  breath,  "  and  it  is  so  terrible  to  give  you  noth- 
ing but  unhappiness  in  exchange." 

"  I  am  glad  I  am  here  to  protect  you,"  I  answered, 
drawing  the  cold,  trembling  form  still  tighter  against  my 


ANNA    LOMBARD.  175 

breast.  "That  is  not  unhappiness."  I  did,  indeed,  feel 
such  keen  pity  for  her,  that  all  sense  of  the  part  I  would 
have  to  bear  in  the  punishment  was  lost.  "  Are  you  quite 
sure  it  is  so?"  I  asked,  stroking  one  of  the  little,  ice-cold 
hands. 

"  I  can't  be  absolutely  sure,"  she  answered,  half-inaudi- 
bly;  "  but  I  think  so  from  several  things,  and  especially 
from  last  night.  Oh,  don't  ask  me  about  it,  it's  so  dread- 
ful!" 

I  was  silent.  My  great  fear  was  for  her  reason.  I  knew 
she  was  differently  organized  from  the  majority  of  women. 
1  knew  that  to  her  exceptionally  excitable  and  sensitive 
brain  circumstances  unfortunate  enough  in  themselves  as- 
sumed an  additional  horror.  She  undoubtedly  felt  more 
keenly  both  the  pleasures  and  the  pains  of  this  life  than 
the  average  human  being  is  intended  to  do,  and  both  were 
exaggerated  and  magnified  by  her  view  of  them. 

"  Listen  to  me,  Anna.  You  have  read  and  studied 
philosophy  by  the  bookf  ul.  Now  is  the  time  to  practice 
some  of  it." 

"  I  could,  if  this  only  affected  myself,"  she  murmured  in 
a  stifled  voice. 

"  That  can  not  be  helped.  We  can  not,  either  of  us, 
consider  ourselves  separately  any  longer.  When  we  love 
another,  we  double  our  pains  and  sorrows  just  as  we  double 
our  pleasures;  but  that  is  quite  fair.  We  must  face  this, 
just  as  we  would  any  other  trial,  together,  and  as  calmly  as 
we  can.  I  shall  give  out  the  announcement  of  our  mar- 
riage this  afternoon.  How  soon  will  you  be  ready?  What 
day  shall  I  say?" 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  It  must  be  done  at  once,"  I  urged.  "  After  your 
marriage  you  are,  to  some  extent,  secure;  and  life  itself 
is  such  an  uncertain  thing,  Anna,  we  can  only  count  on 
the  moment  in  our  hands.  I  may,  for  instance,  meet  with 
some  accident.  I  might  die,  and  then  you  would  be  left 
as  you  are  now,  and — unmarried." 

"  It  would  not  matter,"  said  Anna,  who  was  sobbing 
now.  "  I  should  come  with  you." 

"  But,  my  sweet,  it  would  make  me  very  unhappy  in 
my  last  moments  to  feel  that  I  had  not  done  all  that  lay  in 
my  power  for  you,  while  I  was  alive.  I  know  this  is  not  a 
thing  to  be  put  off.  It  is  all  important  now  that  the  mar- 


176  '    ANNA    LOMBARD. 

riage  should  take  place  at  once,  before  anything  intervenes 
which  might  make  it  impossible.  Once  married,  you  are 
safe  from  the  outside  world,  at  any  rate;  whatever  private 
griefs  and  sorrows  we  may  have.  The  world  can  know 
nothing  and  say  nothing." 

"  I  was  looking  forward  to  it  so  much,  I  wanted  it  so 
much — till  now,"  she  sobbed,  brokenly. 

"  So  did  I,"  I  answered,  "  and  now  I  want  it  more  than 
ever.  So  it  is  settled,"  I  added,  kissing  her.  "  The  wed- 
ding takes  place  at  once,  and  I  will  make  all  the  arrange- 
ments for  it." 

"  Let  me  get  up;  I  feel  stifled;  I  believe  that  dreadful 
fainting  is  coming  on  again." 

She  struggled  out  of  my  embrace,  and  I  rose.  Her  face 
was  white  and  her  eyes  uncertain  and  unbalanced. 

I  put  my  arm  round  her  waist  and  drew  her  toward  the 
table.  The  spirit-lamp  under  my  coffee-urn  was  still  burn- 
ing, and  the  coffee  abore  boiling  unnoticed.  I  poured  her 
out  a  cup  of  it  and  pressed  her  gently  into  a  chair.  She 
drank  the  coffee  obediently  and  began  to  look  more  natu- 
ral again. 

''  We  shall  soon  be  having  our  breakfast  together,  as  an 
ordinary  matter,"  I  said,  smiling. 

My  great  idea  was  to  turn  her  thoughts  into  a  lighter 
vein.  I  saw  that  she  felt  the  position  acutely,  felt  it  to  a 
degree  that  might  affect  even  her  reason;  and  I  felt  I 
must,  if  possible,  lift  the  strain  from  her  brain;  if  only 
from  moment  to  moment.  She  played  with  the  little, 
green  coffee-cup,  turning  it  round  in  the  saucer,  and  her 
eyes  wandered  about  the  room. 

"  It  is  so  nice  to  come  to  you,"  she  said,  softly.  "  I 
feel  so  rested,  almost  happy,  when  I  have  been  with  you  a 
little  while;  and  I  dreaded  this — telling  you,  \I  mean. 
Last  night  I  suffered  so;  I  felt  I  could  never,  never  tell 
you  nor  see  you  again,  and  yet,  through  all  the  suffering, 
I  longed  for  you  so  much." 

"  I  wondered  why  you  would  not  see  me  last  night,"  I 
answered.  "  Dear  child,  you  would  have  slept  better  if 
you  had  told  me  at  once,  and  let  me  comfort  you." 

"  You  have  been  so  very  good  to  me  and  done  so  much 
for  me — one  thing  after  another;  but  it  seems  as  if  you, 
even  you,  must  get  tired  of  it  all,  must  feel  angry  with  me, 
must  fail  me  some  time.  I  keep  on  disappointing  you  so." 


ANNA    LOMBARD.  177 

"  Well,  this  is  the  last,"  I  returned,  smiling.  "  You 
will  be  my  own  after  this,  and  I  will  take  care  of  you  bet- 
ter." 

She  was  sitting  in  one  of  my  large  arm-chairs,  leaning 
one  elbow  on  the  table  and  shading  her  face  with  her  hand. 
She  looked  up  at  me  now. 

"  I  don't  think  we  can  marry  immediately,"  she  said, 
with  a  painful  blush.  "  I  mean  not  hurriedly  at  all. 
That  would  only  attract  attention.  I  have  been  so  much, 
so  very  much  with  you,  and  all  the  station  has  talked 
so  of  our  attachment,  that — that — they  would  never  guess 
the  truth — if  they  thought  anything — they  would  think 
it  was  you — it  was  your  fault." 

I  bit  my  lips  suddenly.  I  saw  in  a  moment  the  truth  of 
what  she  said. 

"  What  is  said  of  me  matters  very  little,"  I  answered, 
after  a  second.  "  But,  of  course,  I  don't  wish  to  make  it 
seem  hurried,  so  as  to  throw  suspicion  into  people's  mind. 
I  want  to  save  you  from  anything  of  the  sort,  whether  con- 
nected with  me  or  in  any  other;  but  a  fortnight  hence  I 
think  would  be  a  reasonable  date.  Don't  you?  I  feel  a 
little  anxious  now  about  delaying  it  as  long  as  that;  but, 
perhaps,  as  you  say,  it  must  be  so." 

"  Yes,  I  should  think  a  fortnight  from  the  ball  yester- 
day, when  I  was  supposed  to  have  recovered,  would  be 
about  what  they  would  expect,"  she  answered  in  a  low  tone. 

"  That  shall  be  so,"  I  said.  "  And  now  you  are  here, 
Anna,  come  and  see  the  house,  and  tell  me  what  you  think 
of  all  I  have  been  doing.  I  forbid  you  absolutely  to  think 
of  the  future  any  more  just  now,  or  what  it  may  have  for 
you.  The  anticipation  of  everything  in  life  is  the  keenest 
part,  both  in  pleasures  and  trials.  Things  are  smaller  when 
we  actually  come  to  face  them.  Each  day  brings  its  own 
strength  with  it." 

Anna  got  up  from  the  chair,  and,  in  obedience  to  my 
wishes,  gave  a  little,  faint  smile;  and  we  went  out  of  the 
dining-room  together  through  the  different  rooms  of  the 
house  on  the  ground  floor;  then  up  the  staircase  to  the 
upper  rooms  and  verandas;  and,  last,  I  brought  her  to  the 
bedroom  at  the  end,  which  covered  the  whole  width  of  that 
part  of  the  bungalow.  She  sunk  in  one  of  the  chairs,  and 
I  went  over  the  windows  to  open  them  and  let  in  the  light 
and  air. 


178  AKNA    LOMBARD. 

There  was  a  long  pier-glass  at  the  end  of  the  room,  and 
as  I  walked  toward  it  I  caught  her  reflection.  She 
was  sitting  contemplating  the  bed  with  such  a  look  of 
hopeless  misery  on  her  face  that  I  left  off  what  I  was  say- 
ing about  the  flowers  on  the  veranda  and  went  back  to  her. 

"What  is  the  matter?  Don't  you  like  it?"  I  said, 
gently. 

Her  eyes  filled  with  great  tears  which  rolled  slowly  down 
her  cheeks. 

"  Oh,  yes,  it  is  beautiful,  too  beautiful,"  she  said  at 
once,  taking  my  hand,  as  I  stood  beside  her.  "  And  I  see 
you  have  put  there  Parvati.  She  is  suitable  for  me." 

"  Why,  dear?"  I  asked,  disturbed  at  the  bitterness  in 
her  tone.  "  What  are  you  thinking  of?" 

"  Don't  you  know  the  legend  of  Parvati?"  Anna  an- 
swered, gazing  at  the  little,  silver  figure,  absently.  "  She 
was  sitting  waiting  in  the  forest  one  day  for  her  lover — 
Shiva,  I  think  it  was — and  a  little,  gray  squirrel  ran  by 
her.  Parvati  stretched  out  her  hand  idly  and  caught  it, 
and  the  squirrel  ran  through  her  grasp  and  escaped;  but 
her  fingers  were  so  burning  with  the  fire  of  love  that  they 
scorched  the  fur  on  its  back;  and  forever  after,  to  this  day, 
the  squirrel  bears  three  black  stripes  along  its  back  where 
the  fingers  of  the  goddess  burned  them.  My  hands  used 
to  burn  like  that  when  you  were  away  at  Burmah." 

And  she  put  them  over  her  face. 

"  I  didn't  know  the  legend,"  I  said,  simply.  "  But  I 
will  take  down  the  image  and  throw  it  in  the  garden  if 
you  wish." 

"  No,  no!  not  for  worlds;  let  it  stay  there." 

"  You  should  not  regret  that  fire,"  I  said,  putting  my 
hand  on  her  downcast  head.  "  It  is  a  gift  of  Nature  to 
you,  just  like  your  red  lips  or  curling  hair;  and  it  gives 
you  much  of  your  power  over  men,  Anna,  and  makes  them 
your  slaves — as  I  am,"  I  added. 

Anna  looked  up. 

*'  No,  not  a  slave,  an  idol,"  she  murmured,  passionate- 
ly, taking  my  hands  and  kissing  them.  Then  she  rose. 
"  I  must  go.  I  have  been  here  too  long  already." 

I  made  no  effort  to  dissuade  her;  and  we  went  to  the 
door  and  left  the  room  together. 

"  Did  you  have  no  hat?"  I  asked  in  an  ordinary  tone; 


ANNA.    iOMBARD.  279 

and  we  passed  into  the  dining-room  again,  where  the  butler 
was  arranging  the  sideboard. 

"  No;  I  came  in  a  gharry,  and  had  it  all  closed,"  she 
said.  "  How  long  the  coachman  must  have  thought  me!" 

I  went  with  her  to  the  door,  and  there  her  servant  was 
waiting  with  a  large,  white  parasol,  to  shade  her  with  it  to 
the  carriage,  waiting  at  the  foot  of  the  steps.  I  waited  till 
she  had  disappeared  and  the  carriage  had  driven  off.  Then 
I  retraced  my  steps  into  the  dining-room  and  sat  down. 

There  was  almost  a  smile  on  my  lips  as  I  thought  bit- 
terly how  life  seems  to  get  hold  of  some  men  and  play 
with  them,  mock  them,  cheat  them,  toss  them  about  for 
sport.  It  had  done  so  with  me;  but  I  would  conquer  life 
in  the  end;  I  would  come  out  the  victor.  This  woman, 
whom  I  had  desired  when  I  first  saw  her,  and  who  had 
been  removed  and  removed  from  me  by  various  devices  of 
circumstances,  each  time  I  had  thought  to  possess  her, 
should  be  entirely  my  own  at  last;  with  not  the  shadow 
even  of  a  thought  I  did  not  know,  between  us. 

I  went,  as  usual,  in  the  evening  to  the  Lombards',  feel- 
ing full  of  anxiety;  but  my  apprehensions  died  away,  as 
soon  as  Anna  entered  the  room.  She  looked  pale  and  sub- 
dued, but  quite  calm  and  mistress  of  herself,  and  I  saw  she 
had  summoned  all  the  strength  of  her  nature  to  meet  the 
situation.  There  were  only  a  few  people  present — familiar 
friends.  Mrs.  Tillotson,  the  Paris  Gamin  of  the  tab- 
leaux, among  them.  I  smiled  to  myself  as  I  saw  her  peer- 
ing sharply  at  Anna.  Keen-witted,  as  I  knew  she  was,  and 
keen-sighted,  I  felt  that  Anna  could  defeat  easily  any  one 
who  tried  to  pry  into  her  life;  and  that  once  she  had  gath- 
ered up  the  reins  and  fixed  her  eyes  on  the  goal,  she  would 
drive  her  chariot  and  steer  her  course  straight  through  the 
gaping  crowds  that  line  the  ways  of  life,  watching  for  the 
accidents  of  those  who  do  more  and  dare  more  than  they 
can. 

That  evening  she  was  orthodoxly  charming.  She  laughed 
the  requisite  amount,  neither  too  much  nor  too  little,  and 
talked  the  prescribed  idiotic  babble  of  ordinary  society — 
which  I  knew  was  always  an  effort  to  her — with  the  great- 
est fluency  and  ease.  She  played  and  sung  for  us  the  most 
delightfully  twaddly  society  songs,  and  did  not  even  touch 
her  favorite  Wagner  till  the  clo^e  of  the  evening,  when  she 
gave  us  the  "  Festspiel  und  Bruutiied  "  from  "  Lohen- 


180  ANNA    LOMBARD. 

grin."  It  was  Liszt's  arrangement,  and  she  played  the 
opening — in  fact  all  the  "  Festspiel  " — with  the  magnifi- 
cent energy  and  fervor  of  her  temperament;  and  I,  listen- 
ing, thought,  "  Anna  is  speaking  to  me  now.  This  is  the 
first  glimpse  of  her  real  self  that  I  have  had  this  evening." 

Then,  from  out  of  that  intricate  maze  of  brilliant  chords 
and  arpeggios  floated  suddenly,  softly,  and  delicately  as  an 
evening  breeze,  the  Bridal  Chorus.  The  melody  filled  the 
room  and  fell  like  a  charm  over  us  all.  The  faces  of  the 
married  women  took  a  dreamily  reflective  expression,  and 
the  unmarried  girls  one  of  eager  hope  and  expectancy. 
When  she  had  finished  there  was  much  smiling  applause. 

Anna  rose. 

"  That's  what  I  feel  like,"  she  said,  simply,  and  with  a 
glance  at  me. 

The  announcement  that  our  wedding  was  to  take  place 
two  weeks  from  the  night  before,  had  been  given  out  that 
afternoon,  and  every  one  laughed  indulgently;  and  there 
was  a  great  deal  of  whispered  confidence  and  hushed 
laughter  between  her  and  all  the  women,  as  they  broke  up 
for  the  night. 

Anna,  standing,  saying  "  good-by  "  to  them,  was  the 
happy,  innocent,  unthinking  bride-elect  to  perfection. 
When  they  had  all  gone  and  the  general  had  retired,  we 
stood  for  a  moment  alone  together. 

"  You  don't  misunderstand  me?"  she  said  in  a  low 
tone.  "  You  don't  think  me  callous,  nor  that  I  don't  feel 
the  horror  of  the  whole  thing;  but  this  is  what  you  wish 
me  to  be,  is  it  not?  This  is  how  you  wish  me  to  act?" 

"  Do  you  think  we  could  misunderstand  each  other?"  I 
said,  looking  into  her  eyes,  so  sad  now  that  the  affected 
mirth  had  died  from  them.  "  I  think  you  are  most  good 
and  brave.  I  want  you  to  be  inwardly  as  philosophic  and 
resigned  as  you  can,  and  outwardly  as  bright  and  nappy  as 
you  can.  Nothing  we  can  do  can  alter  things  now,  and  we 
must  try  and  minimize  them,  not  exaggerate  them  to  our- 
selves." 

"  You  poured  courage  and  life  into  me  this  morning. 
You  were  so  good  to  me,  and  I  am  so  grateful." 

Nothing  else  was  said;  but  her  tones  were  weighted  with 
feeling  and,  as  I  folded  her  gently  in  my  arms  for  a  good- 
night kiss,  I  felt  that  each  new  trial,  which  might  have 


ANNA    LOMBAED.  181 

sundered  others  from  each  other,  had  only  brought  us  into 
a  more  exquisite  relationship. 

During  the  next  fortnight  the  final  preparations  for  the 
wedding  occupied  both  of  us.  For  me,  a  great  deal  of  the 
life  and  spirit  had  been  taken  out  of  them.  I  had  had  a 
blow  and  received  a  wound  that  I  could  not  recover  from; 
since  the  wound  must,  necessarily,  remain  an  open  and 
bleeding  sore  for  months  to  come.  At  the  same  time  I  did 
not  suffer  so  much  as  a  man  whose  love  was  differently 
constituted.  For  me,  Anna's  presence  near  me  in  itself, 
even  if  sick,  sorrowing,  and  burdened  with  the  chains  of 
her  dead  passion,  would  still  be  a  delight  beyond  words. 
Moreover,  having  once  fully  determined  to  accept  the  situa- 
tion as  it  was,  I  rarely  allowed  myself  to  dwell  on  it,  and 
tried  as  far  as  possible  to  put  away  the  thought  and  re- 
membrance of  the  secret  she  had  given  to  my  keeping;  and 
which  seemed  mocked  and  made  unreal,  each  time  I  was 
with  her,  by  her  fair,  innocent,  girlish  look.  I  think  she 
herself  had  determined  in  the  same  way  to  crush  it  under 
silence  now;  for  she  never  alluded  to  it  when  we  were  to- 
gether, and  when  others  were  present  she  showed  a  soul  of 
gayety  and  happiness,  not,  I  think,  forced;  and  seemed 
interested  in  the  selection  of  all  the  countless  treasures  sub- 
mitted by  the  Kalatu  merchants  for  the  Mem  Sahib's 
wardrobe. 

One  morning,  rather  early,  I  entered  the  drawing-room 
a  little  unceremoniously,  and  found  her  trying  on  a  just- 
finished  gown;  because,  as  she  naively  explained  later, 
"  There  was  a  long  glass  there  and  none  in  her  bedroom, 
and  she  had  not  expected  visitors." 

The  gown  was  one  of  rose-colored  silk,  and  suited  admir- 
ably the  rose  of  her  skin.  She  was  just  surveying  herself, 
as  I  came  in;  and  the  eager,  happy,  interested  look  in  her 
eyes,  bent  on  her  own  reflection,  delighted  me.  When  she 
caught  sight  of  me,  however,  the  dress  seemed  forgotten, 
and  she  responded  eagerly  to  my  caress,  crushing  up  the 
delicate  lace  and  ruffles  on  her  breast  against  my  coat, 
dusty  with  the  ride  over. 

"  Gerald,  when  I  woke  this  morning,  a  bird  was  singing 
exquisitely  at  my  window,  and  a  maina  was  calling  from 
the  banana-tree.  I  felt  so  happy  to  think  only  three  morn- 
ings would  go  by  and  then  I  should  wake  up  under  the 


182  ANNA    LOMBARD. 

smile  of  those  serious  eyes  of  yours,  that  never  do  anything 
but  smile  upon  me." 

Another  morning  I  found  her  leaning  back  in  a  long 
chair  surveying  the  goods  of  a  native  dealer  in  Oriental 
trimmings,  who  had  his  wares  opened  out  in  a  circle  on  the 
floor  all  round  her.  And  another  time  I  came  in  to  see 
her  the  center  of  a  crowd  of  young  girls  of  her  own  age, 
who  were  all  eating  sweetmeats  and  drinking  iced  coffee 
and  discussing  the  approaching  event;  but  each  time  she 
was  gay,  contented,  smiling.  So  the  time  passed  till 
the  eve  of  the  marriage  came;  and  then,  by  prearrange- 
ment,  I  went  to  her  to  take  her  for  a  drive  with  me  before 
sunset.  I  found  her  sitting  in  her  chair  waiting  for  me  on 
the  bungalow  steps;  a  delicate,  charming  figure  with  a 
large,  white  hat  that  turned  up  at  the  side,  where  a  few 
tiny,  soft,  light  curls  lay  against  it. 

"  Let  me  sit  on  the  left  side,  where  your  hat  turns  up," 
I  said,  laughing.  "  I  don't  wish  even  a  hat-brim  to  be  be- 
tween us." 

And  she  laughed  and  obeyed. 

"  We  will  drive  to  the  Burra  Bagh  or  the  Great  Gar- 
dens," I  said,  and  so  directed  the  coachman.  The  even- 
ing was  still  with  a  heavy,  dreaming  stillness,  that  the 
drone  of  a  thousand  insects  seemed  only  to  intensify.  The 
carriage-wheels  made  no  sound  on  the  soft  roads,  bordered 
by  emerald  turf;  the  hedges  gave  out  their  heavy  odor  of 
syringa  and  tuberose.  All  around  the  sunshine  fell  in  a 
burnished  golden  haze,  deepened  and  enriched  by  the  ap- 
proach of  the  sunset.  Overhead,  through  the  fan-like, 
spreading  branches  of  the  cocoanut-palms,  that  the  sun 
burned  into  glinting  gold,  the  sky  was  beginning  to  blush 
softly;  and  small,  gold-tipped,  rosy  clouds  floated  across  it. 
Occasionally,  a  huge,  heavy,  black,  carrion  bird  flapped 
lazily  across  from  side  to  side,  too  indolent  to  croak  and 
too  lazy  to  even  fly  properly  and  in  a  straight  line.  He 
just  flapped  heavily  and  obliquely  through  the  warm,  still 
air  from  one  syringa-laden  hedge  to  another.  I  leaned 
back  in  the  carriage,  giving  myself  up  to  the  restfulness  of 
my  surroundings  and  letting  my  eyes  rest  on  the  soft,  cool 
cheek  of  the  girl  beside  me,  rising,  as  it  did,  above  the 
white  ruffles  of  lace  round  her  neck. 

We  were  quite  silent  for  a  long  while,  as  we  often  were 
When  together.  Conversation  is  pleasant,  but  there  is  no 


ANNA    LOMBARD.  183 

actual  need  of  it  between  minds  so  closely  linked  as  ours 
were. 

After  a  time  she  slipped  her  hand  out  of  her  glove  and 
laid  it  on  mine. 

"  I  shall  never  forget  how  good  you  were  to  me  the 
morning — I  told  you,"  she  whispered.  "  You  must  never 
think  that  because  I  don't  speak  of  it,  that  I  forget" 

"  I  think  you  were  very  brave  and  good  to  come  and  tell 
me,"  I  answered,  quietly  "  Many  women  would  have  left 
me  no  choice.  They  would  have  married  and  said  nothing 
about  it." 

"  Would  they?"  returned  Anna,  turning  upon  me  a 
startled  gaze.  "  Oh,  I  could  never  have  done  that,  any 
more  than  I  could  marry  you  as  you  wished,  and  as  I 
longed  to,  while  Gaida  was  alive,  and  not  told  you  of  his 
existence." 

I  looked  into  the  wide-open,  fearless  eyes,  truly  great 
wells  of  living  light,  with  truth  at  the  bottom  of  them. 

"  I  know  you  could  not,"  I  said,  simply.  "  The  lying 
and  deceit  that  come  naturally,  it  seems,  to  most  women 
are  not  among  your  faults,  my  Anna." 

"  I  have  enough  without  them,"  she  answered,  sadly. 

"  You're  not  to  be  sad  now,"  1  said,  authoritatively, 
"  on  the  eve  of  your  marriage  to  me.  I  can't  have  it." 

"  I  am  not,"  she  said,  smiling.  "  I  can  not  help  feel- 
ing so  pleased  to  think  I  am  going  to  belong  to  you  after 
to-morrow.  Fancy  not  being  one's  own  mistress  any  more, 
having  no  will  indisputably  of  one's  own.  Fancy  not 
being  able  to  get  up  when  one  wakes  and  feels  ready  to, 
but  when  some  one  else  wakes  and  is  ready  to;  and  no 
longer  being  able  to  ring  and  order  luncheon  when  one 
feels  hungry,  but  having  to  wait  until  some  one  else  is  hun- 
gry; and  having  to  sit  up  at  night  until  some-one  else  gets 
tired.  How  funny  it  all  seems,  and,  to  me,  very  delight- 
ful." 

"  Is  that  your  idea  of  married  life?"  I  asked,  smiling. 

"  Is  not  that  what  it  must  come  to,  practically?"  she 
returned,  smiling,  too.  "  You  know,  when  two  people 
live  together  there  can  be  only  one  will  between  them, 
and  I  think  it  is  the  woman's  place  to  give  way.  Nature 
has  given  her  the  part  of  submission  in  the  whole  drama 
of  love.  She  can't  take  the  initiative;  she  can  only  re- 
spond. She  is  fitted  to  do  that,  and  that  is  where  she  gets 


184  ANNA    LOMBARD. 

her  best  happiness.  When  I  marry  you,  I  put  my  will  in 
your  hands.  I  make  you  a  present  of  it.  I  have  no  fur- 
ther use  for  it.  The  only  thing  of  importance  hencefor- 
ward is  yours.  And,  it  seems  to  me,  that  is  only  a  small 
part  of  the  whole  surrender  a  woman  makes  in  marriage. 
JEven  now,  for  instance,  you  decide  the  moment  when  you 
shall  kiss  me,  and  I  am  very  glad  to  submit.  Well,  on  the 
same  principle,  I  can  submit  when  you  decide  other  things 
for  me,  and  find  pleasure  in  it." 

"  You  are  terribly  unfashionable  in  your  views,"  I  said, 
laughing.  "  Just  now,  when  woman  is  fighting  to  take 
the  lead  in  everything.  You  don't  seem  to  belong  to  the 
nineteenth  century." 

"  I  don't  think  that  I  do,"  she  answered.  "  The  nine- 
teenth century  is  nearly  over,  any  way.  Perhaps  I  am  a 
product  of  the  twentieth,  and  come  too  soon." 

It  was  growing  dark  all  round  us,  the  beautiful,  luminous 
dark  of  the  East,  full  of  mysterious  rose  and  violet. 

"  No,  not  too  soon,"  I  answered,  and  as  our  eyes  met 
each  other's,  through  the  soft-colored  dusk,  there  was  a 
moment's  keen  realization  that  all  the  centuries  to  come 
could  not  give  to  each  other  two  that  were  as  nearly  one  as 
we  were. 

The  following  day,  late  in  the  afternoon,  we  were  mar- 
ried; not  quietly  as  we  would  have  wished,  and  in  Anna's 
drawing-room,  but  in  the  presence  of  all  the  station.  So 
far  did  we  sacrifice  ourselves  for  the  sake  of  the  people  who 
knew  us.  There  followed  a  long  reception  at  my  house; 
and  then,  at  last,  we  were  alone. 

It  was  a  little  after  nine.  In  a  few  hours  more  the  night 
would  be  over  and  the  light  would  be  dawning  on  the 
plains.  Anna  turned  to  me,  and  we  stood  for  a  moment 
together,  when  our  guests  had  gone,  under  one  of  the 
lamps  which  threw  a  veil  of  light  over  her  and  turned  her 
hair  to  flame  color. 

"  Surely  I  am  the  least  deserving  and  the  most  fortu- 
nate of  any  one  in  the  world,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice. 
"  Gerald,  in  spite  of  everything,  I  am  so  happy." 

We  passed  out  of  the  room  and  went  upstairs  to  the  one 
in  which  I  had  worked  so  hard  for  her  sake,  and  which  she 
was  entering  at  last.  It  was  full  of  a  soft  radiance  of 
light,  such  as  she  delighted  in,  from  swinging  lamps  in 
slightly  veiled  shades;  and  the  great  pier-glass  at  the  op- 


ANNA    LOMEAED.  185 

posite  end  of  the  room,  facing  the  door,  reflected  her  figure 
as  she  stepped  over  the  threshold.  I  closed  the  door  be- 
hind us.  The  windows,  with  their  jilmils,  stood  wide  open 
to  the  four  quarters  of  the  violet  sky,  studded  with  differ- 
ent patterns  traced  in  blazing  stars,  so  that  they  looked 
like  four  slides  from  a  kaleidoscope.  The  servants  had  all 
retreated  to  their  quarters;  the  sea  wind,  that  sweeps  rest- 
lessly over  the  desert  sand  all  day,  had  sunk.  Not  a 
breath  disturbed  the  heavy,  sultry  air. 

We  crossed  the  room  involuntarily  to  the  mirror  there, 
and  stood  looking  into  it  at  her  reflection;  and  she  put  up 
her  hands  to  her  neck  to  unfasten  the  necklet  I  had  given 
her.  Then  she  dropped  them  again. 

"  You  do  it  for  me,"  she  murmured;  and  I  unclasped 
the  diamonds  and  replaced  them  with  kisses. 

Then  I  took  the  great,  doubled-up  plait  of  her  hair  and, 
untying  the  white  ribbon  that  held  it  double,  began  to  un- 
plait  it,  letting  each  soft  strand  slip  through  my  fingers,  as 
1  released  it. 

"  And  so  you  love  me?"  I  said,  softly,  when  it  was  all 
loosened  and  fell  like  sunlight  over  her  neck  and  shoulders. 

Anna  leaned  back  against  me  and  put  her  arms  round 
my  neck,  turning  her  face  upward  so  that  her  mouth,  like 
an  opening  flower,  was  close  beneath  my  own. 

"  I  do  not  love  you,"  she  said,  with  her  voice  quivering 
and  the  pulses  beating  hard  in  her  throat.  "  1  worship 
and  adore  you." 

And  it  is  not  a  little  thing  for  a  man  to  hear  from  the 
woman  he  loves. 

Hours  later,  wide  awake,  I  raised  myself  on  one  elbow, 
where  I  lay  beside  her  and  gazed  down  upon  her.  The 
dawn  was  just  beginning  to  softly  fill  the  room.  Anna 
had  fallen  asleep;  fallen  with  her  face  turned  and  her 
arms  a  little  extended  toward  me,  into  the  happy,  trustful, 
innocent  sleep  of  a  child  beside  its  mother.  And  I,  to 
whom  she  was  as  sacred  now  from  the  approach  of  passion 
as  before  she  became  my  own  and  held  my  name,  looked 
down  upon  her  and  realized  that  in  self-renunciation,  self- 
abnegation,  self-denial  'for  another,  lies  the  keenest,  purest 
pleasure  of  humanity.  This  was  my  marriage  night,  and 
what  had  it  brought  me?  No  abandonment  to  personal 
pleasure,  no  sensual  delight  of  any  sort,  no  gratification  of 
the  desires  or  the  senses;  nothing  that  the  promise  of  its 


186  ANNA    LOMBARD. 

name  implies;  only  self-repression  and  self-restraint,  a 
total  denial  of  the  physical  will.  Yet  out  of  all  this  rose  a 
supreme  happiness;  and,  I  suppose,  no  man  ever  felt  at  the 
final  abandonment  to  him  of  a  mistress  or  the  possession 
of  a  wife  the  same  passion  of  delight  and  triumph  that  I 
did  when  Anna  lay  down  beside  me  and  sunk  to  sleep  with 
a  happy,  contented  sigh.  Out  of  the  stress  and  the  vio- 
lence and  the  selfishness  of  passion,  she  had  come  to  the 
shelter  of  an  absolute  love.  She  was  happy,  protected, 
safe;  and  I  was  the  one  who  gave  her  that  happiness,  pro- 
tection, safety.  In  the  whole  world  there  is  no  privilege 
that  Fate  can  give  equal  to  this:  the  power  to  bestow  these 
three  where  one  loves.  I  gazed  down  upon  her  now  in  the 
quiet  room,  where  the  soft  light  was  diffusing  itself,  seem- 
ing like  the  presence  of  the  Divine  Spirit  sanctioning  our 
union;  and  my  heart  swelled  within  me  with  a  peace  and 
calm  and  joy  that  nothing  in  my  life  has  equaled.  She 
slept  beside  me  tranquilly  as  a  child,  with  her  loosened 
hair  thrown  back  and  straying  over  the  pillow  and  her 
breath  coming  and  going  softly,  almost  imperceptibly,  in 
her  glad,  confident  slumber. 

What  did  it  matter  to  me  the  unappeased  longings  of 
the  senses,  the  gratification  of  which  has  but  one  final  end, 
satiety,  and  the  absence  of  the  falsely  designated  "  real," 
that  is,  physical,  pleasures? 

In  that  mental  exaltation  that  filled  me,  as  I  gazed  at 
that  calm  face  and  form  wrapped  in  the  mystery  of  sleep, 
I  was  unconscious  of  my  physical  being;  and  it  is  in  these 
moments  when  the  soul  and  brain  take  up  the  supreme 
command  of  man  that  he  discovers  the  essence  of  joy. 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE  note  that  had  been  struck  on  my  marriage  night 
was  the  key-note  of  my  married  life — self-renunciation; 
but,  as  on  that  night  it  had  brought  me  nothing  but  the 
height  of  happiness,  so  it  continued  to  be  from  day  to  day 
the  source  of  delight  to  me.  It  was  Anna  who  was  dissat- 
isfied with  herself. 

"  I  am  no  good  to  you,  dear  Gerald,"  she  would  say. 
"  What  can  I  do? 

And  I  could  only  answer  the  simple  truth,  "  You  are 
every  tiling  to  me,  Anna.  I  am  more  than  satisfied." 


LOMBAKD.  187 

It  was  so.  Her  presence  alone  seemed  to  fill  up  my  life 
with  contentment.  There  was  an  extraordinary  tie,  as  it 
seemed,  between  us;  invisible,  but,  at  times,  almost  tangi- 
ble. It  was  as  if  she  held  one  end  of  an  elastic  thread  and 
I  the  other,  and  that  this  thread  would  not  stretch  beyond 
a  certain  distance,  nor  for  longer  than  a  certain  time.  If 
either  strained  at  it,  it  pulled  us  irresistibly  together  again. 
There  seemed  a  curious  balance  of  electricity  between  us; 
one  must  have  possessed  just  the  amount  which  the  other 
lacked. 

When  we  were  together,  both  felt  calm  and  satisfied;  but 
for  those  hours  in  each  day — if  there  were  any — in  which 
we  were  separated,  there  was  always  a  sub-consciousness  of 
restlessness  and  discontent  till  we  were  together  again. 
Thus  it  often  happened  that  when  I  went  down  into  the  city 
to  attend  a  trial  or  other  business,  if  I  were  detained  there, 
a  knock  would  generally  come  on  my  office-door;  and,  on 
opening  it,  I  would  see  Anna  with  a  deprecating  look  on 
her  face. 

"  Why  have  you  come  down,  dear?"  I  would  ask  gener- 
ally, pro  formdj  though  I  knew  by  my  own  instinctive  feel- 
ings why  she  had  come. 

And  she  would  look  at  me,  helplessly,  for  a  moment  or 
so,  and  then  laugh  and  say,  "  I  don't  know." 

She  would  install  herself  quietly  in  one  corner  of  the 
room  and  read,  or  often  do  nothing  until  my  work  was 
over;  and  then  we  would  both  descend  the  stairs,  get  into 
the  carriage,  and  drive  home  together;  and  that  simple  lit- 
tle detail  of  every-day  life  would  seem  something  delight- 
ful to  me,  because  it  was  done  with  her.  I  could  not  shake 
myself  free  from  the  feeling  of  pleasure  it  gave  me;  though 
it  seemed  unreasonable,  even  to  me,  to  feel  it  so  keenly.  I 
can  not  explain  why  it  was  so  except  by  the  theory  that 
we  exerted  some  force  each  over  the  other,  that  some  elec- 
trical condition  in  me  had  been  disturbed  by  her  absence 
and  was  put  right  by  her  presence,  in  the  same  manner  as 
some  people  suffer  from  headache  during  a  thunder-storm 
and  feel  relieved  and  soothed  when  it  is  over. 

And  existence  has  no  more  perfect  charm  than  this  dual- 
ity, than  this  feeling  of  the  strong,  elastic  thread  binding 
together  the  two  lives;  yielding,  giving,  and  stretching  as 
the  individuality  of  each  requires,  but  always  drawing  them 
toward  the  other. 


1S8  AHNA    LOMBARD. 

People  in  the  station  began  to  look  upon  us  as  the  most 
extraordinary  couple  possible,  because,  even  after  we  were 
married,  we  were  hardly  ever  seen,  except  together;  and 
the  average  Briton  seems  to  expect  a  man,  when  married 
de  facto,  to  seldom  appear  with  his  wife. 

"  I  don't  know  how  it  is,"  said  Anna  to  me  one  day, 
with  a  puzzled  smile,  "  but  other  people  don't  seem  to  love 
at  all  in  the  same  way  we  do,  or  live  the  same  life.  They 
aren't  together,  as  we  are.  There's  Ella  Barrington,  you 
know;  she  never  sees  Barrington  all  day.  In  the  morning 
she  goes  down  to  the  town  and  shops,  then  she  drives  back 
for  luncheon;  and  he  doesn't  come  back  for  that,  because 
he  is  so  far  off.  Then,  in  the  afternoon,  she  pays  calls  all 
alone.  He  does  come  back  to  dinner;  but  then  in  the 
evening  she  very  often  goes  to  a  dance  and  he  goes  to  bed 
because  he  is  tired,  or  he  goes  to  his  work  again  and  she 
goes  to  bed  because  she  is  tired.  I  could  not  lead  that 
life." 

"  Perhaps  they  don't  hit  it  off  very  well,"  I  suggested. 

I  was  writing  in  my  office,  and  Anna  was  at  a  little  table 
by  my  side  copying  the  official  correspondence  for  me,  as  I 
finished  it.  I  had  three  clerks,  but  they  had  not  her  ac- 
curacy and  speed,  and  then  also — 

We  had  just  paused  for  a  moment  in  the  work  to  drink 
a  large  glass  of  soda,  in  which  the  ice  clinked  musically, 
and  to  give  ourselves  up  to  the  fanning  of  the  punkah. 
Outside  the  closed  jilmils  the  thermometer  registered  one 
hundred  and  fifteen  degrees  Fahrenheit,  and  inside  here  the 
short  curls  on  Anna's  forehead  were  wet. 

"  But  that  is  the  life  of  all  the  married  women  in  the 
station,"  she  objected.  "  It's  most  funny.  You've  no 
idea  how  different  we  are.  And  other  people  think  it  is  so 
odd,  too,  that  we  should  want  to  be  together,  now  we  are 
married.  It's  becoming  quite  a  scandal,"  she  added,  with 
her  eyes  full  of  laughter.  "  It  is  fortunate  we  had  such  a 
big  wedding  and  every  one  saw  it  with  their  own  eyes, 
otherwise  they'd  get  up  some  story  that  we  weren't  mar- 
ried. They  would,  really." 

I  laughed.     "  Quite  likely,"  I  answered. 

"  It's  so  intensely  nice  being  with  you,"  she  continued, 
pushing  her  chair  a  little  closer  to  mine.  "  If  I  go  down 
to  choose  a  pair  of  gloves,  you  come  with  me,  and  that 
makes  choosing  the  gloves  as  much  pleasure  as  going  to  an 


LOMBAKD.  189 

opera.  Then,  when  I  make  my  calls,  you  come  too,  and 
that  makes  it  all  interesting;  just  as  when  I  used  to  meet 
you  at  the  places  when  we  were  engaged.  And  in  the  even- 
ings, think!  I  should  never  go  to  a  dance,  while  you  went 
to  bed  or  to  your  work.  I  would  much  rather  be  where 
you  were.  But  every  one  thinks  it  awfully  funny,  and  so, 
perhaps,  it  is.  I  noticed  Mrs.  Pearson  looked  quite  sur- 
prised, and,  don't  you  know,  almost — well,  shocked,  when 
I  refused  to  drive  home  with  her  and  Captain  Green,  be- 
cause I  was  waiting  to  drive  you  back  from  the  office. 
*  Surely,  my  dear,'  she  said,  '  your  husband  doesn't  expect 
you  to  drive  him  back  every  evening?'  and  I  said,  '  I 
don't  know,  Mrs.  Pearson,  but  I  like  to  do  it.'  And  then 
she  raised  her  eyebrows  and  Captain  Green  stared  at  me 
through  his  eye-glasses,  and  they  both  drove  on  with  the 
air  that  they  considered  me  a  harmless  maniac." 

I  nodded  and  laughed. 

"  The  men  think  it  odd,  too,  that  they  never  see  me  at 
the  club  now,  and  that  I  won't  stay  the  whole  afternoon 
gossiping  with  them  or  reading  the  papers;  but  prefer  to 
come  back  to  walk  or  ride  with  you.  They  are  nearly  all 
married  men.  I  suppose  we  are  different  from  other  peo- 
ple," I  concluded. 

"  There  is  not  one  married  woman  here  who  lives  the 
life  I  do,"  she  said,  meditatively.  "  She  is  interested  in 
her  children,  her  house,  her  servants,  her  calls,  her  golf; 
and  her  husband  is  interested  in  his  work,  his  horses,  his 
duties,  his  club.  Their  lives  are  quite  apart  and  full  of 
different  ideas  and  aims.  We  are  just  like  one  person,  are 
we  not?  And,"  she  went  on  after  a  pause,  "  the  people 
who  are  only  just  married  are  only  a  little  better.  Even 
they  are  rarely  together.  One  does  not  seem  necessary  to 
the  other  at  all." 

"  I  give  it  up,"  I  said,  laughing.  "  And  now  we  must 
get  back  to  work.  The  Government,  I'm  afraid,  will  ob- 
ject to  paying  me  for  using  its  time  to  discuss  metaphysical 
problems." 

And  we  emptied  our  iced  soda-water  glass  and  went  back 
to  the  correspondence. 

About  three  months  after  our  marriage  we  were  trans- 
ferred to  another  station — a  hot,  dry  place  out  on  the 
plains.  It  was  large;  and  I  think  I  have  never  seen  so 
many  handsome  faces  among  the  English  girls  in  India  as 


190  ANNA    LOMBARD. 

were  crowded  into  that  one  station.  On  the  second  day 
after  our  arrival,  when  we  had  to  be  at  home  to  receive 
calls,  I  saw  Anna  looking  from  one  to  another  as  they  came 
in;  and  to  me,  who  knew  her  face  so  well,  her  thoughts 
were  perfectly  clear.  Nothing,  however,  could  make  her 
ungracious  in  manner;  and  whatever  irrepressible  envy  she 
might  feel,  it  was  not  in  her  nature  to  stoop  to  the  spiteful 
meanness,  the  petty  warfare  of  sneering  words  that  most 
women  adopt  to  their  rivals.  She  was  graciousness  and 
gentleness  itself  to  them  all,  and  moved  about  the  room 
and  dispensed  tea  to  her  guests  with  her  usual  quiet  ease. 
That  same  evening,  after  dinner,  we  were  sitting  on  the 
couch  together,  looking  over  some  papers  that  I  had 
brought  up  from  the  commissioner's,  for  her  consideration 
as  well  as  my  own,  when  she  said,  suddenly,  to  me: 

"  Gerald,  I  wish  you  were  not  so  handsome." 

I  laughed;  knowing  quite  well  what  was  in  her  thoughts. 

"  Why?''  I  said. 

"  Because  all  these  girls  and  women  will  be  falling  in  love 
with  you,  I  know." 

"  I  don't  think  that  is  at  all  likely;  but  suppose  they 
did,  would  that  matter  very  seriously?" 

"  No — no — "  replied  Anna,  hesitatingly.  "  Not  if 
you-" 

And  then  she  stopped,  looking  at  me.  The  blood  seemed 
beating  up  to  my  head  in  great  waves. 

"  Do  you  think  that  I  don't  know  the  exact  value  of  a 
pretty  face  or  smooth  shoulders?"  I  said,  quietly;  trying 
to  overcome  the  strange  excitement  that  was  rising  in  my 
veins.  "  The  passing  trifles  good  to  help  one  through  a 
tedious  hour.  Do  you  think,  for  the  pleasure  they  would 
bring,  that  I  would  throw  aside  a  love  like  ours?" 

Her  face,  at  the  end  of  the  sofa,  seemed  to  swim  before 
me,  with  its  arched  brows  and  eyes  welling  over  with  light. 
They  looked  a  little  startled,  a  little  surprised.  Iloavens! 
Did  she  not  know,  did  she  not  realize  what  my  life  beside 
her  was?  Was  it  possible  that  I  had  overacted  my  part  of 
self-repression,  which  I  had  taken  up  for  her  sake?  A  hor- 
rible moment  of  weakness  came  over  me.  It  was  so  long, 
this  trial.  Perhaps  my  attitude  was  misunderstood  by  her. 
Perhaps  it  was  unnecessary,  absurd.  An  insidious  tempta- 
tion was  at  my  side,  fiercer  even  than  that  of  my  marriage 
night.  I  was  strung  up  then  to  a  pitch  of  exaltation,  in 


ANHA    LOMBAED.  191 

which  everything  was  possible.  The  first  onslaught  of  desire 
is  far  easier  to  withstand  than  its  slow,  continued  pressure 
eating  into  the  brain  through  weeks  and  months.  Why,  I 
do  not  know;  but  it  seemed  as  if  in  that  moment,  when 
she  spoke  so  lightly  of  the  other  women,  all  the  long 
struggles  of  past  nights,  all  the  anticipations,  the  longings, 
the  visions  of  feverish  moments  in  the  day,  reached  their 
culminating  point.  Other  women!  Other  faces!  The 
passing  physical  pleasure  of  a  mouth  that  pleases,  of  a 
touch  that  stings.  What  were  they  to  me? 

The  flesh  has  but  one  voice  with  which  it  calls  to  kin- 
dred flesh;  but  the  soul,  the  intellect,  the  brain,  have  a 
thousand  voices,  and  all  of  these  called  to  me  from  the 
wi-man  before  me. 

It  would  be  worth  something  to  feel  those  lips  quiver  be- 
neath one's  own,  to  light  up  a  torch  in  those  eyes,  to  feel 
that  breast  heave  beneath  one's  own.  It  would  be  the 
final,  the  only  adequate  and  satisfying  expression  of  our 
love;  and  it  was  possible,  if  I  delayed,  it  might  never  be 
ours.  Had  she  not  in  a  few  months — months! — to  de- 
scend into  the  shadow  of  death,  from  which  she  might 
never  return  to  me?  And  she  was  my  own,  my  absolute 
possession;  and  there  was  no  bar  between  us.  No  one 
could  reproach  me.  I  was  her  husband. 

At  that  second  I  was  sitting  upright  at  the  end  of  the 
couch,  looking  at  her,  and  bending  to  breaking  point  a 
paper-knife  between  my  burning  fingers.  The  next  I  had 
thrown  myself  forward  on  her.  Mv  arms  were  round  her. 
Her  face  looked  up  at  me  from  the  couch.  I  seemed  to 
see  it  through  a  mist.  The  lips  were  faintly  smiling,  the 
eyes  were  luminous  with  a  new  light.  She  gave  herself  to 
me  willingly.  As  she  had  said,  my  will  was  hers.  Her 
conscience,  also,  she  was  content  for  me  to  guard.  What 
I  did  was  right.  And  it  was  this  that  saved  me.  Had  she 
resisted  me  in  the  least,  that  resistance  would  have  chal- 
lenged the  brute  force  within  me,  that  longs  to  dominate  by 
force.  Her  passivity,  her  trust  in  me  spoke  to  the  mind 
that  seeks  its  victories  in  other  ways. 

After  all,  what  would  this  pleasure  be  in  which  the  soul 
could  not  share?  Nothing  would  give  me  the  real  joy  of 
possession,  but  the  future.  I  let  her  fall  from  me  sudden- 
ly, and  drew  back. 

She  put  her  hands  over  her  face  and  burst  into  tears. 


192  ANNA  LOMBARD. 

"  Forgive  me,"  I  said.  "  It  is  so  hard  to  keep  one's 
self-control  unbroken.  And  never  speak  to  me  again 
about  other  women.  If  you  had  any  idea  of  all  I  suffer  on 
your  account,  you  would  know  it  was  quite  unnecessary  to 
be  jealous  of  any  others." 

"  I  am  so  sorry,"  Anna  sobbed  from  the  couch;  "  but, 
do  you  wish — " 

"  I  don't  wish,"  I  said,  coldly.  In  fact  the  reaction  was 
so  strong  that  ice  seemed  to  have  replaced  the  fire  in  my 
veins  of  a  moment  ago.  I  sat  down  beside  her,  calmly 
now,  and  took  her  hand.  "  You  know,  as  well  as  I  do, 
what  I  really  wish.  In  our  final  union  I  want  you  to  come 
to  me  free  of  all  previous  ties.  I  want  to  be  able  to  take 
you  for  my  own,  without  a  shadow  between  us.  Nothing 
else  will  satisfy  me.  To  take  you  now  is  but  to  discount 
our  pleasure  in  the  future.  A  pleasure  which  will  bring 
no  reproch  with  it,  as  it  would  now.  The  nominal  right 
the  law  has  given  me  is  as  nothing,  to  my  view,  beside  the 
law  of  Nature.  While  you  are  bearing  Gaida's  child  you 
are  still  his.  I  can  not  understand  why  I  am  so  weak  to- 
day. I  do  not  think  it  will  happen  again." 

That  night  I  did  not  go  to  her  room,  but  walked  about 
until  past  midnight,  and  then  went  to  my  own  former  ver- 
anda room  where  the  hot,  sand-laden  wind  was  driving 
through  the  slits  of  the  jilmih,  and  threw  myself  on  the 
cliarpoy  of  stretched  canvas,  beneath  the  windows;  and, 
after  an  hour  or  two,  fell  into  a  restless,  nervous  sleep. 

The  following  morning,  when  I  woke  in  the  narrow 
camp  bed  and  looked  round  the  bare,  unfamiliar  room,  a 
curious  sense  of  loss  seemed  to  come  over  me.  I  got  up 
and  went  to  Anna's  room,  turning  the  handle  of  the  door 
and  going  in;  for  the  key  was  never  turned  against  me.  I 
went  up  to  the  bed  where  she  was  sleeping.  It  seemed 
that  she  had  sobbed  herself  to  sleep,  for  there  were  blue 
nnd  scarlet  patches  round  her  eyes;  marks  which  I  knew 
the  tears  always  left  on  her  light  skin.  She  opened  her 
oyes  after  a  minute,  and  there  was  a  cry  of  delight  as  she 
saw  me  standing  looking  down  at  her.  She  stretched  up 
her  arms  to  me. 

"Oh!  I  had  such  a  wretched  night  without  you.  I 
couldn't  sleep  at  all.  And  I  did  not  like  to  go  and  try  to 
find  you.  Please,  come  back  to  me.  You  will  come  to- 
night, won't  you?" 


ANNA    LOMBARD.  19$ 

And  I  promised  I  would. 

Owing  to  our  official  rank  in  the  station,  we  had  inces- 
sant invitations  and  a  great  deal  more  society  than  we  de- 
sired. I  kept  watch  upon  myself  in  all  this  time  that  I 
should  not  seem  to  be  drawn  away  from  Anna  by  all  these 
social  functions,  most  of  which  were  forced  upon  me.  I 
knew  she  was  acutely  sensitive;  and,  as  she  had  given  mG 
the  index  to  her  thoughts,  I  was  put  on  my  guard.  I  do 
not  mean  that  she  was  tiresomely  or  childishly  jealous. 
She  never  sought  to  bar  me  from  other  women,  quite  thfo 
contrary;  and  if  I  expressed  the  most  casual  admiration 
for  any  particular  one  of  the  station's  favorites,  that  one 
was  always  invited  by  Anna  to  the  house.  She  herself 
would  often  urge  me  to  accept  invitations  I  should  have 
declined. 

"  You  must  get  tired  of  being  so  much  with  me,"  she 
would  say.  "  Do  go,  if  you  like,  and  see  any  of  these  peo- 
ple." 

But,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  I  seldom  wanted  to  leave  her. 
Most  people — nearly  everybody — seemed  to  bore  me  and 
tire  me;  and  it  was  always  with  a  sense  of  relief  and  pleas- 
ure that  I  came  back  from  them  to  her. 

The  passion  that  we  had  for  each  other  was  a  passion  of 
the  brain,  as  much  or  more  than  one  of  the  senses;  and  no 
amount  of  custom,  no  time,  no  familiarity,  had  any  effect- 
on  that,  except  to  strengthen  it.  All  physical  pleasures  de 
cline  with  gratification;  but  those  of  the  brain  increase. 
When  the  body  is  hungry,  food  satisfies  and  then  stops  ite 
hunger.  How  different  is  the  brain  when  hungry  foi 
knowledge!  The  learning  and  study  given  to  it  as  food  ut* 
terly  fail  to  satisfy.  They  do  no  more  than  stimulate  an 
increased  craving. 

Before  our  marriage  I  had  been  content  to  sit  with  Anna 
through  a  whole  evening;  because,  for  one  reason,  she 
made  a  very  beautiful  picture  sitting  opposite  me,  and  my 
sense  of  vision  had  been  delighted  and  satisfied.  That 
was  one  reason,  but  not  the  only  one.  The  far  stronger 
one  was  that  my  brain  was  moved  and  fired  by  all  she  said; 
it  was  satisfied  and  delighted  by  her  presence,  just  as  my 
eyes  by  her  face.  And  now  that  the  lines  of  beauty  in  her 
form  were  blurred  and  distorted,  when  only  a  pale  face 
met  my  eyes,  it  was  still  a  keen  pleasure  to  return  and  sit 
opposite  her;  keener  far  than  any  afforded  me  by  the  pink 
7 


194  ANNA    LOMBARD. 

cheeks,  the  idiotic  babble  and  senseless  giggle  of  the  belle* 
of  the  station.  And  I  was  inexpressibly  thankful,  some- 
times, that  no  evil  fate  had  thrown  one  of  these  to  my  lot 
as  a  life's  companion.  One  may  gaze  on  a  pink  cheek  fo>- 
half  an  hour;  one  may  listen  to  babble  for  an  hour;  one 
may  stand  insensate  giggling  even  for  two;  but  in  days  and 
weeks  and  months  and  years,  how  shall  these  satisfy  all  the 
longing,  straining,  striving,  restless,  nameless  desires  of 
the  human  brain? 

The  curious,  or  what  to  most  men  may  seem  the  curi 
ous,  part  of  our  existence  now  was,  that  as  weeks  passed 
on  and  Anna's  condition  became  evident,  it  drew  me  ti> 
her,  rather  than  repelled  me.  I  became  infinitely  at- 
tached to  her,  and  more  and  more  in  proportion  as  I  sa.v> 
the  situation  grew  more  depressing  and  terrible  to  her. 
She  entirely  lost  her  health;  and,  as  she  said  to  me  one- 
morning,  she  only  awoke  now  to  suffer.  But  with  that 
loss  of  health,  with  long  hours  of  pain,  periods  of  sickness 
and  weary,  restless  nights,  came  none  of  that  peevishness 
and  irritable  fretfulness  that  most  women  combine  with 
their  suffering.  Anna's  nature  seemed  to  become  sweetei 
and  gentler,  the  greater  the  strain  that  was  put  on  it;  and 
the  yielding,  unquestioning  docility  and  tenderness  she  had 
always  displayed  toward  me,  linked  themselves  now  to  an 
almost  painful  humility, 

I  saw,  as  plainly  as  if  the  thoughts  that  came  and  went 
in  her  brain  were  visible  objects,  that  she  dreaded,  in  her 
ill  health  and  in  this  strange  position,  to  become  repellent 
to  me.  That  she  felt  in  some  way  my  debtor,  and  to  show 
her  gratitude,  in  some  way  to  make  even  the  score  she  fan- 
cied was  so  much  against  her,  she  made  use  of  all  the 
seductive  charm  that  was  her  gift  from  Nature.  She  never 
complained;  it  was  only  from  my  own  observation  that  I 
knew  how  much  she  suffered,  both  mentally  and  physic- 
ally, but  far  more  the  former  than  the  latter.  And  this 
suffering  united  her  to  me  in  a  far  greater  degree  than  the 
loss  of  all  her  physical  charm  could  sunder  her.  I  loved 
her  infinitely  more  now,  and  could  be  far  more  tender  and 
patient  than  in  the  time  before  our  marriage,  when,  so  to 
speak,  she  was  arrayed  with  Gaida  against  me.  Now  she 
was  suffering  with  me,  and  she  and  I  were  arrayed  together 
against  a  common  sorrow.  The  sight  of  her  bearing  a  long 
punishment,  day  by  day,  wiped  out  utterly  from  my  mind 


ANNA    LOMBARD.  195 

all  remembrance  of  any  fault  she  might  ever  have  com- 
mitted against  me,  roused  all  my  sympathy  and  pity, 
and  drew  the  deepest  love  out  of  the  reserves  of  my  nature. 
And,  in  spite  of  the  religious  scruples  and  moral  ideas  that 
opposed  themselves  to  possession  in  the  commonest  ac- 
ceptance of  the  word,  yet,  in  the  highest  sense,  I  knew  she 
was  altogether  my  own.  The  passionate  hate,  that,  she 
confessed  to  me,  would  rise  in  her,  in  spite  of  all  her  efforts, 
of  the  child  she  was  to  bear,  seemed  like  a  seal  on  her  love 
for  me.  Moreover,  it  was  ingrained  in  my  nature  to  care 
for  and  lean  toward  anything  that  depended  upon  mo  and 
clung  to  me;  and  Anna,  nervous  and  excitable  as  she  was, 
viewed  her  coming  trial  with  a  mental  terror  and  turned 
to  me  continually  for  comfort,  like  a  frightened  child  in 
the  dark. 

As  day  followed  day,  we  were  each  more  and  more  bound 
up  in  the  other.  Nature  can  make  a  habit  of  loving  as  she 
can  of  anything  else.  And  with  some  temperaments — as 
with  mine — love  nourishes  itself.  It  is  the  memory  of 
what  we  have  done  for  another,  far  more  often  than  the 
memory  of  what  that  one  has  done  for  us,  that  softens  us 
in  reflection.  And  when  love  is  poured  out  as  mine  for 
Anna,  for  one  who  longs  for  it,  demands  it,  lives  by  it,  and 
gives  back  tenfold,  there  is  an  intoxication  and  delight  in 
the  exchange,  enough  to  fill  two  of  the  blankest  lives. 

Anna  made  such  a  wonderful  companion.  I  had  felt 
that  she  would  do  so,  during  all  the  time  I  had  known  her; 
but  I  had  never  realized  what  a  mere,  poor  foreshadowing 
that  broken-up  companionship  had  been  of  the  perfect, 
smooth,  intimate  union  in  the  life  lived  day  by  day,  night 
by  night  with  her. 

When  she  accompanied  me  to  my  office,  I  found  she  was 
of  more  use  to  me  than  my  three  clerks  together.  She 
had  such  a  gift  of  grasping  the  sense  and  import  of  things. 
It  was  never  any  trouble  to  explain  to  her.  Whatever 
mental  nut,  as  it  were,  was  offered  to  her,  her  intellect 
seemed  to  grip  it  at  once  and  split  it  open;  and  the  kernel, 
neat  and  round,  was  lying  before  you.  I  have  found  this 
to  be  a  very  rare  gift.  The  brain  that  can  do  and  create, 
can  form  ideas  and  hold  opinions  is  less  uncommon  than 
the  one  which  can  really  understand.  As  a  rule,  explain- 
ing to  one's  subordinate  what  has  to  be  done  and  how  it  is 
to  be  done,  is  so  much  effort  and  attended  with  so  little, 


196  ANNA    LOMBARD. 

success,  that  to  do  the  work  one's  self  is  the  lighter  task. 
One  day  I  had  spent  the  whole  morning  in  endeavoring  to 
put  my  assistants  in  the  way  of  making  for  me  a  precis  of 
some  native  evidence,  which  was  required  for  the  following 
day;  and  the  result  was  an  intolerably  confused  document, 
utterly  useless  to  me  or  the  court.  I  told  them  to  leave 
the  matter  alone;  that  I  would  see  to  it  myself  in  the  after- 
noon; and,  having  already  an  impossible  amount  of  work 
on  hand,  that  prospect  did  not  improve  my  temper.  Tired 
and  savage,  I  drove  home  to  luncheon,  not  without  a  de- 
lightful consciousness  that  for  an  hour  at  least  I  should 
have  perfect  rest  and  peace,  arid  found  Anna,  as  usual, 
waiting  in  the  cool,  shaded  dining-room.  She  came  her- 
self to  my  side  and  poured  out  some  wine  for  me  and  asked 
me  why  I  looked  so  tired;  and,  during  luncheon,  I  told  her. 
My  nerves  were  shaken  by  overwork  and  the  peculiarly  irri- 
tating kind  of  work  I  had  had  that  morning;  and  I  up- 
braided the  Government  for  giving  me  fools  to  work  with, 
and  lamented  the  idiocy  of  mankind  in  general  and  the 
hard  fate  that  made  me  an  Indian  civil  servant.  Anna 
listened  very  quietly,  making  hardly  any  remark;  which 
was  wise,  for  any  remark  would  have  irritated  me  then. 
But  when  I  had  quite  finished  and  was  exhausted,  she 
agreed  with  everything  I  had  said,  which  is  something; 
and  sympathized  with  me  in  every  look  and  tone,  rather 
than  in  words,  which  is  tranquillizing.  When  I  rose,  I 
said,  remorsefully: 

"  I  am  sorry  to  have  been  so  annoyed.  I  expect  I 
spoiled  your  luncheon.  You  look  very  white.  What  have 
you  been  doing  all  the  morning?" 

And,  indeed,  her  face  had  a  settled  look  of  pain  on  it, 
that  was  distressing. 

"  It  is  nothing  much,"  she  answered,  smiling.  "  I  have 
had  a  dreadful  pain  in  my  side,  but  it  has  gone  off  now. " 
Then  she  came  close  to  me  and  said,  timidly,  "  Please  let 
me  come  down  this  afternoon  and  do  the  precis  for  you." 

"  Dear  child,"  I  said,  gently,  in  surprise,  "  I  don't  think 
you  can." 

"Well,  let  me  try." 

"  Come,  by  all  means,  if  it  will  amuse  you;  but  I  am 
afraid  you  can't  help  me  in  any  way." 

Anna  made  no  reply,  but  put  on  her  hat  with  a  delight- 
ed air;  and  we  went  out  to  the  carriage  and  drove  down  to 


ANNA    LOMBARD.  197 

the  city  together.  It  was  a  pleasure  to  have  her  beside  me. 
Even  when  she  did  not  speak  she  looked  intelligent;  and  I 
knew,  if  I  spoke  to  her,  I  should  meet  with  some  other  re- 
sponse than  the  bewildered  and  vaguely  questioning 
"  sahib?"  of  my  clerks.  When  we  reached  the  office  I 
gave  her  a  chair  and  a  table  to  herself,  in  one  corner,  and 
piled  on  the  latter  the  material  from  which  the  precis  was 
to  be  made.  Such  a  pile  it  was!  Fragments  of  old,  torn 
letters;  a  dying  deposition  taken  in  an  opium  den  of  the 
bazaar,  and  of  which  the  paper  was  yellow  with  smoke  and 
dirt;  columns  of  notes  taken  from  testimony  in  court,  and 
loose  odds-and-ends  of  papers  of  all  sorts  that  might  or 
might  not — probably  not — throw  light  on  the  case.  All 
these  in  the  native  tongue — Hindustani — and  written  in 
the  Hindustani  character  by  hurried,  careless,  or  inexperi- 
enced penmen.  Anna  looked  over  them  coolly. 

"  Now,  Gerald,  tell  me  exactly  what  you  want,"  she 
said,  fixing  her  eyes  on  me,  in  which  I  noticed  the  pupils 
beginning  to  widen  and  dilate,  as  they  always  did  with  spe- 
cial activity  of  the  brain.  I  explained  to  her  what  I  want- 
ed and  the  previous  history  of  the  case,  and  it  seemed  to 
take  five  minutes,  whereas,  in  the  morning,  I  had  expend- 
ed as  many  hours;  and  it  was  no  trouble  to  explain  to  her, 
either.  Her  large,  bright  eyes  seemed  to  lead  one  on. 
Her  keenly  interested  voice:  "Yes,  I  understand."  "I 
see."  "  Go  on,"  was  encouraging.  Her  acute  attention, 
absolutely  given  to  the  matter  in  hand,  was  inspiring.  One 
seemed  face  to  face  with  an  intelligence;  whereas,  with 
most  people,  the  fleshy  screen  between  their  brain  and 
yours  seems  terribly  thick. 

"  I  understand  it  now,"  she  said,  finally.  "  I  will  work 
it  out  for  you." 

And  I  went  over  to  my  own  desk.  Four  hours  of  the 
long,  golden  afternoon  wore  away  in  silence,  and  I  man- 
aged to  get  through  most  of  my  own  work.  Then  I  looked 
over  toward  her  and  saw  she  was  still  absorbed.  I  leaned 
back  in  my  chair  and  watched  her.  The  table  before  her 
was  a  model  of  neatness  and  order.  The  papers  had,  ap- 
parently, been  classified,  and  were  now  all  ranged  in  sepa- 
rate piles.  She  was  working  on  a  large  sheet  before  her. 
I  got  up  and  went  over  to  her. 

"  Don't  work  too  long  upon  that,  You'll  make  your- 
self so  tired,"  I  said. 


198  ANNA    LOMBARD. 

"Just  finished,"  she  answered — as  indeed  she  had — and 
she  blotted  the  last  line  and  then  gave  me  the  five  large 
sheets  of  the  precis  and  leaned  back  in  her  chair  with  a 
laugh,  to  see  my  surprise  and  pleasure. 

It  was  admirable.  Every  paper  had  been  translated  and 
the  pith  of  each  extracted  and  set  down  with  perfect  clear- 
ness. The  letters  and  testimony  were  translated  and  copied 
with  the  greatest  accuracy;  and  correct  references  had  been 
put  against  each  item,  by  which  one  could  find  at  once  the 
original. 

"  Thank  you,"  I  said,  very  earnestly.  "  You  have 
done  that  wonderfully.  Far  quicker  than  I  could.  How 
have  you  attained  such  a  faculty  fur  grasping  things?" 

"  I  don't  know.  I  suppose  I  always  had  it.  I  remem- 
ber my  mathematical  tutor  said  to  me,  when  I  was  first 
learning  Euclid,  that  I  could  always  see  the  propositions 
quicker  than  any  of  his  other  pupils;  and  in  reading  Taci- 
tus I  often  saw  what  the  passage  meant  before  the  tutor 
did.  Anyhow,  I  am  awfully  glad  I  helped  you  with  the 
precis  ;  and  now  let's  go  home.  I  want  my  tea." 

The  next  day  the  deputy-judge  complimented  me  on  the 
"  very  masterly  way  in  which  the  evidence  had  been  con- 
densed and  reduced  from  a  mass  of  confusion  to  a  remark- 
ably clear  and  lucid  statement." 

But  it  was  not  Anna's  knowledge  of  Greek  and  Latin, 
nor  even  her  capability  of  precis  writing  that  made  her  so 
infinitely  valuable  to  me  each  day  of  my  life — such  an  in- 
cident might  only  occur  once  in  many  months.  It  was  her 
intense  sympathy.  A  sympathy  that  emanated  naturally 
from  her,  as  perfume  from  a  flower.  And  the  fount  of  that 
sympathy  was  in  those  clever  brains  of  hers.  Now,  the 
sympathy  that  comes  from  the  brain  as  well  as  from  the 
heart  is  infinitely  more  comprehensive  and  satisfying  than 
that  which  comes  from  the  heart  only.  That  good-natnred 
sympathy  that  is  offered  sometimes  by  a  warm  heart  beat- 
ing in  an  uneducated  person's  breast!  How  often  is  it 
galling  and  irritating  in  the  extreme!  It  is  uncertain,  also. 
It  reaches  out  to  a  toothache  and  extends  over  bad  colds 
and  accidents.  It  stretches  into  the  region  of  linseed  poul- 
tices and  physical  comforts.  But  to  those  deeper  wounds 
and  keener  pains  of  the  soul  it  can  not  reach.  To  a  brain 
like  Anna's,  there  was  nothing  in  the  human  emotions  too 
difficult  to  understand.  Knock  in  any  way  you  would  at 


ANNA    LOMBAED.  '  199 

the  door  of  her  soul,  and  it  would  always  fly  open  to  you 
immediately.  She  would  never  meet  you  with  the  blankj 
dull  stare  of  hopeless  non-comprehension.  You  knew  she. 
would  never  disappoint  you.  The  little  troubles  of  life 
and  the  large,  the  physical  pains  and  the  mental,  she  could 
understand  them  all.  All  r.f  I  hem — fr:  m  ;>,  finger  jammed 
in  a  door  or  an  insult  from  the  head  of  a  department,  to 
the  loss  of  an  appointment  or  the  destruction  of  an  art 
treasure — came  wiiliia  her  province  cf  sympathy.  And, 
under  her  influence,  I  felt  that  my  own  character  was 
changing  too.  Unconsciously  to  myself,  at  the  time,  I  grew 
less  selfish.  It  never  seemed  any  trouble  to  do  anything 
for  her,  she  was  so  grateful ;  and,  insensibly,  her  habit  of 
throwing  herself  always  into  my  mood,  whatever  it  might 
be,  and  interesting  herself  in  anything  I  was  interested  in, 
gradually  taught  me  also  that  secret  of  sympathy  with  an- 
other that  alone  is  capable  of  smoothing  out  the  rugged 
lines  of  life.  And  in  this  way  the  weeks  and  month? 
passed  by  of  not  the  happiest  period,  but  still  a  happy  one, 
of  my  existence.  The  cloud  of  the  dread  that  I  might  so 
soon  lose  her,  hung  over  it  and  obscured  the  sunshine.  The 
last  day  of  November  came,  and  in  this  station  of  the  plaina 
it  was  terribly  hot  and  sultry.  The  air  seemed  to  thicken 
and  thicken,  as  night  approached,  until  one  felt  suffocation 
in  breathing  it.  Toward  dark,  as  I  was  standing  for  a 
moment  by  an  open  window,  watching  the  great  tridenU 
of  lightning  playing  on  the  horizon,  Anna  came  up  to  me 
and  touched  my  arm. 

"  Gerald,  I  am  in  such  horrible  pain,"  she  whispered. 

I  turned  instantly  and  looked  at  her.  Her  face  wai 
white  to  the  lips,  and  an  ungoverned  terror  looked  out  of 
her  eyes.  I  put  my  arm  round  her,  and  I  felt  she  was 
trembling  as  one  trembles  in  ague.  As  I  drew  her  closei 
I  could  feel  her  heart  was  leaping  in  great,  irregular  beats 
her  hands  were  cold  and  as  wet  as  if  they  had  been  dipped 
in  water. 

"  Hold  me,"  she  whispered.  "  I  am  so  frightened.  I 
don't  know  what  it  will  be  like.  And  the  pain,  Gerald, 
you  have  no  idea;  when  it  comes  on,  it  is  something  beyond 
words;  it  annihilates  one."  Then  putting  her  lips  close 
on  my  ear,  she  murmured,  "  Oh,  if  it  were  only  something 
I  was  bearing  for  you;  if  it  was  only  pain  that  I  was  suf- 
fering for  your  sake,  then  I  should  delight  in  it!" 


200  ANNA    LOMBARD. 

I  pressed  her  to  me  in  silence,  too  far  moved  for 
words,  and  she  clung  to  me. 

"  I  can't  bear  to  inflict  the  sight  of  my  pain  on  you;  but 
— but — if  you  were  wit.h  me — if  you  stayed  with  me,  I 
should  not  be  so  afraid." 

"  Do  you  think  I  could  be  anywhere  but  with  you,  know- 
ing you  were  suffering?"  I  answered.  "  Dear  little  girl, 
of  course  I  will  stay  with  you  all  the  time." 

She  put  back  her  head  and  looked  at  me,  and  her  lips 
opened  to  answer  me;  then  they  twisted  suddenly  into  a 
half-smothered  groan  of  pain.  I  had  one  glance  of  fleet- 
ing terror  from  her  eyes,  and  then  she  fell  forward 
against  me  unconscious. 

I  carried  her  upstairs  and  laid  her  on  her  bed  and  sum- 
moned her  own  attendants,  the  nurse  and  the  doctor, 
whom  I  had  staying  in  the  house  with  us.  Then  I  sat 
down  by  the  bed,  holding  her  hand  in  mine  and  realizing 
that  that  little,  helpless  hand  held  the  whole  globe  of  the 
world  in  it  for  me. 

"  I  don't  think  we  shall  need  you,  sir,"  said  the  English 
nurse. 

"  My  dear  fellow,  you  had  better  not  stay  here,"  urged 
the  doctor. 

"  I  intend  to  remain,"  I  answered;  and  they  said  no 
more. 

Through  the  whole  of  that  terrible  night  I  stayed  beside 
her;  and  whose  was  the  greater  suffering,  it  would  be  hard 
to  say.  The  physical  agony  dominated  her  completely; 
but  she  was  still  blindly  conscious  of  the  touch  of  my  hand 
and  of  my  presence,  and  kept  the  teeth  on  her  lip  till  the 
blood  came,  to  hold  back  her  screams  for  my  sake. 

The  long  hours  stretched  out  their  moments  to  infinite 
length  over  their  heads,  and  it  seemed  to  me  impossible 
that  any  human  frame  could  wrestle  with  agony  and  with- 
stand it  for  so  long.  It  seemed  as  if,  in  those  wild  strug- 
gles, the  soul  must  get  loose,  free  itself,  and  fly  from  me. 
In  the  last  moments  of  terror,  when  my  own  heart  was 
beating  in  my  throat  in  dread,  she  tore  open  her  eyes  and 
fixed  them  on  me.  The  fear  in  them  was  heart-rending, 
yet  not  only  fear  was  there.  There  was  a  desperate  appeal 
to  me  for  that  help  and  comfort  she  always  turned  to  me 
to  gain.  She  told  me  afterward  my  face  had  given  her 
strength  and  courage  for  the  supreme  effort.  Just  as  the 


ANNA    LOMBARD.  201 

lawn  broke  over  the  plains  and  the  first  soft  light  crept 
tranquilly  into  that  room  of  agony,  her  child  was  born, 
and  she  herself  fell  back  nerveless,  it  seemed  lifeless.  I 
bent  over  her  and  she  told  me  later  that  she  had  felt  my 
face  close  above  hers;  that  she  had  longed  to  open  her 
eyes,  to  smile,  to  speak,  to  reassure  me,  to  thank  me;  but 
that  her  power  was  gone.  Not  even  strength  remained  to 
raise  the  eyelids;  they  lay  like  lead  upon  her  eyeballs;  her 
hand  would  not  obey  her  desire  to  close  it  on  mine.  And 
while  I  heard  a  voice  telling  me  she  was  alive  and  safe,  she 
lay,  pallid  and  motionless,  with  closed  eyes  before  me.  1 
stooped  and  kissed  her;  and,  for  the  only  time,  there  was 
no  response. 

CHAPTER   XI. 

A  SQUAKE  landing  with  a  door  half-open  into  a  room 
full  of  daylight.  A  bed  with  its  white  curtains  looked 
back,  and  Anna  lying  there  half-raised  upon  one  elbow, 
and  the  white  light  of  morning  striking  on  her  rapt, 
downward-gazing  face.  I  was  crossing  the  outside  land- 
ing, and  I  paused  and  looked  in  and  then  remained  there. 

That  look  of  rapture  on  her  face  held  me  motionless, 
and  even  my  heart-beats  seemed  to  grow  still  as  I  watched 
her.  On  her  left  arm  lay  Gaida's  child,  asleep;  and,  un- 
conscious of  my  presence,  unconscious  of  all  else  in  the 
world  but  it,  she  was  gazing  down  into  its  face. 

"  My  darling,  my  sweet  love,"  I  heard  her  murmur. 
"  You  are  all  my  own!  How  good  God  has  been  to  give 
you  to  me!" 

She  was  silent  for  a  moment,  lost  in  contemplation;  and 
then,  suddenly,  in  a  passion  of  delight,  she  threw  herself 
forward  on  the  child,  covering  it  with  her  warm  kisses. 

The  child  awoke,  and  a  feeble  cry  went  through  the 
room.  Anna  raised  herself  and  shook  back  her  long,  shin- 
ing hair,  raising  the  child  on  one  arin  so  that  it  was 
brought  distinctly  into  my  view,  and  a  shudder  went  over 
me.  It  was  hideous  with  that  curious  hideousness  of  as- 
pect that  belongs  usually  to  the  fruit  of  Eurasian  mar- 
riages. As  it  lay  on  Anna's  arm  now,  the  peculiar  white- 
ness of  her  skin  threw  up  its  dusky  tint.  Anna  bent  over 
it  again,  pressing  her  lips  to  its  head,  just  darkened  by  the 
coming  hair. 


302  ANNA    LOMBARD. 

"  Did  its  mother  wake  it,  then?"  she  murmured,  laugh- 
ing, and  stopping  its  cries  by  kisses  on  its  eyes. 

The  child  cried  violently,  and  thrust  its  tiny  hand  up  to 
the  silken  masses  of  her  hair,  and  she  threw  her  head  back, 
laughing,  and  I  saw  her  face  gleaming  with  happy  light 
And  her  lips  parted  in  smiles  and  her  eyes  full  of  joy. 
Then,  as  the  child  continued  to  cry,  she  bent  over  and 
kissed  it  again,  as  if  her  lips  could  never  be  satiated,  on  its 
finy,  struggling  hands  and  feet,  on  the  little,  red  knees, 
that  kept  drawing  up,  on  its  heaving  chest  and  open,  cry- 
ing mouth;  and  all  her  face  expressed  passionate  adoration, 
and  all  the  movements  of  her  body  joyous  emotion;  and  I 
atood  still,  without  the  open  door,  watching  her,  transfixed. 

It  seemed  some  strange  illusion  of  the  senses  that  I  stood 
outside  watching  my  Anna — or,  at  least,  the  Anna  that 
had  been  mine — absorbed  in  this  worship  of  another  life; 
and  I  realized  that  I  was  face  to  face  with  Nature  and  her 
laws.  In  that  small,  dark  object  on  the  bed,  that  I  could 
<;rush  with  one  hand,  was  made  manifest  a  force  before 
which  I  and  my  life  and  my  love  and  service  were  as  noth- 
ing. Anna  was  now  a  mother,  and  with  her  maternity 
had  come  the  insensate  idolatry,  the  passionate  absorption 
•of  maternity;  and  those  feeble  fingers  of  the  child,  beating 
the  air,  would  sweep  from  her  heart  the  record  of  our  love 
— the  love  that  had  withstood  all  the  blows  that  shame  and 
sin  and  sorrow  could  hurl  against  it. 

I  stood,  gazing  on  the  scene  before  me,  realizing  that  I 
was  helpless;  that,  strong  as  I  had  been  and  as  my  love 
had  been,  for  her  sake,  I  was  now  in  the  presence  of  a  force 
to  which  I  must  yield;  for  Nature's  own  hand  was  uplifted 
against  me,  and  Anna  and  the  child  were  but  helpless  ex- 
ponents of  her  eternal  laws.  That  the  child  was  hideous — 
horrible  in  its  suggestion  of  mixed  blood;  horrible  as  the 
evidence  of  a  passion  long  since  dead,  and  from  which  she 
had,  in  suffering,  freed  herself — made  no  difference  to  her 
blinded  eyes.  It  was  her  child;  and,  blindly  following  the 
instinct  grown  up  in  her,  she  loved  it  to  the  exclusion  of 
all  else — as  the  jealous  maternal  instinct  commands. 

Within  the  room  all  sound  had  ceased;  for  the  mother 
had  gathered  the  child  to  her  bosom  and  opened  her  breast 
to  it,  and  the  light  fell  now  on  her  head  drooping  over  it, 
and  her  face  was  rapt  and  dreaming,  as  the  small,  dark 
mouth  drew  life  from  her  breast. 


ANNA    LOMBARD.  203 

I  turned  silently  and  descended  the  stairs  with  noiseless 
feet,  and  gained  a  lower  room  and  sat  down  with  my  head 
upon  my  hands.  This,  then,  was  my  hour  of  liberation. 
This  was  the  hour  of  my  reward.  This  was  what  I  had 
waited  for  through  all  these  mouths. 

I  recalled  her  fevered  words  to  me  only  a  week  ago,  ut- 
tered in  a  voice  almost  smothered  in  distress  and  shame. 

"  I  shall  hate  it,  Gerald,  so  much;  I  never  want  my 
eyes  to  rest  on  it.  You  will  have  it  taken  away  from  me 
at  once,  won't  you?  Sent  away  from  me  where  I  can 
never  see  it;  and  then  I  shall  be  all  your  own,  and  nothing 
can  come  between  us  any  more." 

That  is  what  she  had  thought  and  fancied;  and  I,  why 
had  I  not  foreseen  the  truth?  But  I  had  not;  and  quitff 
suddenly,  after  the  suffering  and  hoping  and  longing  for 
months  for  our  emancipation  and  reunion,  when  it  came, 
this  iron  law  had  risen  between  us;  and  she  went  forward 
blindly  where  it  directed,  and  I  fell  backward,  unnoticed 
and  forgotten. 

She  was  not  to  blame.  As  the  child  had  been  the  conse- 
quence of  her  passion  for  Gaida,  so  this  new  maternal  pas- 
sion was  the  consequence  of  the  birth  of  the  child.  Thus 
the  chain  of  the  past  goes  on,  ever  stretching  into  the  fut- 
ure. 

Some  days  passed,  and  I  existed  in  Anna's  life  as  somo 
shadow,  undefined,  that  an  artist  puts  in  the  background 
of  a  scene.  She  lived  in  the  child.  She  was  not  the  least 
unkind  or  ungentle  to  me.  When  I  spoke  to  her,  she  an- 
swered me  without  looking  at  me;  and  when  I  kissed  her, 
she  kissed  me  back  with  absent  lips.  She  was  apparently 
unconscious  of  me  and  my  presence,  except  when  her  own 
worship  of  the  child  failed  to  satisfy  her  and  she  wanted 
others  to  be  charmed  by  it  and  render  it  homage  with  her- 
self, and  then  she  would  call  me  to  the  bedside  to  admire 
it  and  rejoice  with  her  over  it. 

The  child,  as  the  days  passed,  lost  a  little  of  its  first  re- 
pulsiveness;  and  to  no  eyes  but  those  that  knew  the  secret 
of  its  birth  would  it  have  seemed  different  from  a  Euro* 
pean's.  I  myself  being  so  dark,  the  child  was  supposed  to 
"  favor  me  "  and  "  resemble  me;"  and  these  phrases  fell 
upon  my  ears  many  times  in  those  long,  empty  days  from 
Anna's  friends  that  came  to  congratulate  us.  But  these 
small  stabs  affected  me  little.  The  one  great  grief  encom- 


204  AtfNA    LOMBARD. 


passed  and  numbed  me,  and  I  felt  only  it:  that  she  was  no 
longer  mine.  Far  less  so  now  than  when  her  body  be- 
longed to  another,  but  her  mind  to  me.  Now  her  mind 
was  closed  against  me.  She  was  still  too  frail  and  delicate 
for  me  to  trust  myself  to  enter  into  any  discussion  of  the 
position  with  her;  and  I  let  day  follow  day,  acquiescing  in 
all  she  said  and  wished,  and  watched  the  color  and  life 
flowing  back  to  her,  which  it  did  with  marvelous  rapidity. 
So  that,  while  she  nursed  the  child  and  it  drew  its  life 
from  hers,  it  seemed  also  as  if,  in  some  subtle  way,  she  re- 
ceived back  from  it  more  than  she  gave;  and  her  face  grew 
more  brilliant  and  her  laughter  lighter  and  stronger  each 
day. 

And  I  watched  her  and  waited  and  said  nothing,  asking 
mvself  a  thousand  times  a  day,  "  What  should  I  do?" 

For  herself,  she  seemed  completely  to  have  forgotten  all 
that  she  had  begged  and  entreated  of  me  before  the  child 
was  born.  All  the  arrangements  that  had  been  made  for 
its  care  and  future  home,  far  from  Anna,  1  canceled  with- 
out consulting  her.  She  never  alluded  to  them.  All  the 
frenzy  of  hate  she  had  expressed  to  me  in  shamed  whispers, 
seemed  like  something  I  must  have  heard  in  a  dream.  The 
child's  actual  presence  had  effaced,  apparently,  all  those 
months  and  the  feelings  that  belonged  to  them,  as  if  they 
had  never  been. 

One  day,  when  a  little  over  a  month  had  passed  since  the 
birth  of  the  child,  I  was  sitting  in  my  study  at  work,  when 
she  sent  down  for  me  and  asked  me  to  come  to  her.  I  went 
at  once  with  my  heart  beating.  It  was  possible,  I  thought, 
that  the  first  abandonment  of  maternal  love  was  past,  and 
she  wanted  to  take  me  back  into  her  thoughts  and  life. 
Perhaps  I  had  been  unjust  and  impatient  in  my  judgment 
of  her.  If,  in  the  first  blindness  and  intoxication  of  her 
love,  she  had  passed  me  over  and  neglected  me,  it  was 
wholly  natural  and  to  be  forgiven;  but  now  it  was  over, 
and  she  had  remembered  me. 

With  hope  in  my  eyes  and  heart,  I  knocked  gently  at  her 
closed  door,  and  in  answer  to  her  gay  "  Come  in  "  I  en- 
tered, and  all  the  hope  died  out.  She  had,  apparently, 
been  dressing  the  child,  for  the  room  was  littered  with  lace 
and  linen  and  veils,  and  the  child  itself  was  supported  by 
cushions  in  its  bassinette,  and  sat  up  like  a  doll  in  a 
yoluminous  cloud  of  muslin.  With  her  head  half-turned 


LOMBARD.  205 

backward  to  the  cradle,  she  came  to  the  door  and  took  my 
hand  and  drew  me  over  to  it. 

'*  Look,  Gerald;  doesn't  he  look  lovely  in  his  new  clothes? 
Isn't  he  a  darling?" 

I  stood  silent  and  rigid  by  the  cot.  "What  a  bitter  thing 
is  jealousy!  And  that  first  deadly  sip  of  it  that  we  take 
from  the  cup,  generally  held  to  our  lips  by  the  hands  we 
have  loved  and  trusted  till  then — that  is  the  worst  mo- 
ment. That  surpasses  in  pain  the  tragedies  and  open  war- 
fare that  may  come  afterward.  That  first  moment  of 
tasting  it,  which  we  do  with  smiling  lips  because  (re  will 
not  admit,  we  do  not  know,  we  are  poisoned;  that  is  the 
worst. 

*'  Don't  you  like  him  in  this  new  dress?"  she  pursued, 
not  heeding  me,  but  stooping  over  the  cradle  to  tie  a  ribbon 
by  the  child's  shoulder.  "  Gerald,  I  never  was  so  utterly, 
so  perfectly  happy  as  I  am  now.  I  never  could  have  be- 
lieved 1  could  be  so  happy."  She  finished  tying  the  bow 
and  rose  from  her  knees.  "  Isn't  he  sweet?"  she  said, 
drawing  off  a  little  way  and  regarding  him.  "  Don't  you 
want  to  kiss  him?  You  may,  if  you  like,"  she  added, 
laughing  joyously. 

Still  I  could  not  speak  nor  move.  I  seemed  bound  there 
and  voiceless,  and  I  suppose  my  silence  penetrated  at  last 
even  her  self-absorption.  She  looked  up  suddenly  in  mj 
face.  I  do  not  know  what  she  may  have  read  there,  but 
she  gave  a  little  cry  and  pushed  me  from  the  cradle. 

"  Gerald,  you're  jealous." 

I  turned  away  to  the  window  and  put  my  arms  on  the 
edge  of  the  open  j  Until  and  said  nothing.  Words  seemed 
so  inadequate.  The  situation  seemed  so  cruel  beyond  all 
hope. 

"Gerald!" 

There  was  astonishment,  anger,  reproach  in  her  voice, 
and  it  stung  me  beyond  endurance. 

I  turned  and  faced  her. 

**  Anna,"  I  said,  and  the  tone  was  the  hardest  and  stern- 
est she  had  ever  heard  from  me,  "  there  is  no  need  to  edu- 
cate you  in  the  emotions,  surely,  or  has  your  maternity 
quite  blinded  and  changed  you  and  swept  away  your  in- 
tellect entirely?" 

Anna  stood  facing  me  with  wide-opn  eyes  and  a  gradu- 
ally blanching  face.  At  first  she  did  not  seem  to  under- 


206  ANNA    LOMBARD. 

stand,  and  her  eyes  kept  their  usual  expression  now,  of 
seeming  to  look  at  without  seeing  me.  But' after  a  few 
minutes  the  expression  grew  more  conscious,  then  keenly 
so,  and  at  last  sorrow,  sympathy,  and  contrition  rushed 
over  it  together. 

"  What  have  I  done?"  she  said.  "  Have  I  been  very 
selfish?  Have  I  been  unkind  to  you?" 

She  was  awakened  now,  and  her  eyes  no  longer  looked 
past  me,  but  hard  into  mine.  She  stretched  out  her  hands 
pleadingly,  and  her  lips  opened  and  quivered  questioning- 
ly.  I  took  her  hands  and  drew  them  gently  to  my  breast. 

"  Have  you  forgotten  all  we  said  a  little  over  a  month 
ago,  and  how  we  have  both  waited  for  our  perfect  union  till 
now;  and  now,  have  we  been  nearer  together  or  farther 
apart  just  lately?  Have  I  been  taken  more  into  your  life 
or  less?" 

There  was  a  long  silence.  And  it  seemed  to  me  that  the 
old  Anna,  that  had  (belonged  to  me,  was  struggling  to 
awake  in  this  new  Anna  that  belonged  to  her  child.  Then 
at  last  she  said,  brokenly  and  suddenly: 

"  I  understand.  Yes,  Gerald,  I  remember;  but  when  it 
came  it  was  all  so  different.  It  seemed  I  never  could  have 
meant  all  I  had  said.  And  I  thought  you  understood , 
too.  And  now,  what  can  I  do?  I  do  love  it  so.  Even  il 
I  tried,  I  could  not  conceal  that  love  from  you.  The  child 
is  between  us,  I  see  it;  but  what  can  I  do?" 

"  Nothing,"  I  said,  bitterly;  "  there  is  nothing  to  be 
done." 

And  I  went  away  out  of  the  room,  leaving  her  standing 
in  the  center  of  the  tumbled  dolls'  clothes,  and  the  child 
in  the  bassinette  at  her  side.  I  feared  I  might  say  some- 
thing of  which  I  should  repent,  and  I  went  out  and  rode 
across  the  desert  until  it  was  late  afternoon.  When  I  re- 
turned, Anna's  ayah  was  sitting  on  my  library  door-mat 
waiting  for  me. 

"  The  Mem  Sahib  has  been  crying,  crying  all  the  after- 
noon," she  said,  "  and  told  me  to  find  the  sahib  and  send 
him  to  her  when  he  returned." 

I  went  up  the  few  short  stairs  without  waiting  for  an- 
other word  and  entered  the  room  alone.  It  seemed  empty; 
but  a  little,  glad  cry  guided  me  to  the  bed.  Anna  lay  in 
it,  white  and  exhausted.  She  stretched  out  her  arms  to- 
ward me  as  I  approached  and  whispered  as  I  bent  over  her: 


AKNA    LOMBARD.  207 

"  All  this  is  so  dreadful.     We  must  do  something." 

I  sat  down  beside  the  bed  holding  one  of  those  very,  very 
slim,  delicate  hands  in  mine,  whiter  almost  than  the  em- 
broidery of  the  sleeve  above  it.  The  child  lay  sleeping  on 
the  other  side. 

"  It  is  another  of  those  great,  invisible,  iron  laws  that  we 
have  stumbled  against,  that  gird  this  life  all  round  and 
make  it  what  it  is,"  I  said,  wearily.  "  It  is  natural  for  a 
mother  to  love  her  child;  that  is  the  law,  and  it  is  not  our 
fault  that  this  terrible  position  has  grown  up.  We  did  not 
either  of  us  foresee  it,  and  it  is  simply  the  working  out  of 
all  that  has  gone  before." 

She  was  looking  at  me  intently.  I  sat  facing  the  win- 
dow, and  the  vivid  glory  of  tawny  light  flung  up  from  the 
desert  came  in  upon  my  face.  She  seemed  to  see  some- 
thing there  that  arrested  her  eyes  beyond  removing. 

"  Gerald,"  she  said  at  last,  "  in  return  for  all  you  have 
done  for  me  always,  I  am  killing  you." 

I  smiled  a  faint,  weary  smile.  I  could  not  contradict 
her.  In  truth,  more  than  half  of  me  seemed  dead  already. 

"  It  is  not  your  fault.  These  laws  are  greater  than  we 
we." 

There  was  a  long  silence,  and  the  tawny  light  died  away 
autside  and  within,  and  then,  out  of  the  gray  shadows, 
came  her  voice: 

"  I  will  be  above  the  law — for  your  sake." 

I  smiled  again.  When  we  are  young,  we  all  talk  lightly 
Df  the  laws  of  life,  even  when  we  recognize  their  existence 
at  all,  which  we  generally  do  not  do  until  we  have  stumbled 
against  them  in  the  dark  and  fallen  back  crushed  and  bleed- 
ing. As  we  grow  older  we  know  more  and  speak  less 
lightly.  I  pressed  her  hand  and  rose. 

"  Go  to  sleep,  dear  child,  and  grow  well  and  strong 
again,  and  do  not  try  to  arrange  life.  Life  is  stronger  than 
you." 

I  was  about  to  turn  and  leave  her,  but  she  called  me 
back. 

"  Come  here.  Bend  down  and  look  at  me."  I  did  as 
she  asked,  and  the  fire  of  those  eyes  burned  into  mine. 
"  Do  you  forget  that  I  am  Anna  Lombard,  and  I  love  you, 
I  love  you,  I  have  always  loved  you?  I  understand  every- 
thing. You  shall  have  the  reward  of  your  long,  long  serv- 
ice. The  law  shall  break  to  give  it  to  you." 


#)8  ANNA    LOMBARD. 

I  thought  she  was  excited  and  light-headed.  I  stooped 
.ind  kissed  her. 

"  Try  to  sleep.  Whatever  happens,  one  law  will  always 
remain.  I  shall  always  love  you." 

And  I  left  her  and  walked  down  to  the  lower  room  and 
then  on  to  the  veranda,  where  I  sat  gazing  out  over  the 
desert  with  unseeing  eyes. 

"  What  should  I  do?"  I  asked  myself.  "  How  should 
I  dispose  of  my  life?"  It  seemed  but  a  battered  remnant 
that  was  left  me.  Take  that  in  my  hand  and  go  with  it — 
whither?  It  was  impossible  to  stay  living  on  beside  Anna, 
seeing  her  wholly  devoted  to  and  wrapped  up  in  the  child. 
I  had  tried  a  similar  experiment  that  had  left  me  dying  at 
iPeshawur  once  before.  And  then  there  had  been  hope. 
Now  there  was  none,  I  saw  clearly,  and  refused  to  be  de- 
ceived. This  was  a  growing  evil;  one  that  would  grow 
with  the  child's  life,  expand  and  blossom  with  its  growth. 
It  would  absorb  the  whole  of  that  passionate  soul,  once  my 
own,  that  seemed  to  know  no  limit  between  affection  and 
adoration.  No,  I  would  not  undertake  it.  I  would  not 
allow  it  to  enter  my  thoughts  as  a  possible  consideration. 
The  only  thing  to  be  settled  was  to  provide  comfortably 
for  Anna  and  her  child  and  leave  them  both.  Life 
stretched  before  me  as  dreary  as  the  desert  itself.  Some- 
thing of  the  old  feeling  I  had  had  before  I  met  her,  was 
with  me  now;  only  then  it  had  been  mixed  with  the  fresh- 
ness and  vigor  of  unsullied  youth  and  the  impatience  and 
fever  of  overmuch  strength.  Now  it  was  mixed  with  the 
dreadful  languor  of  exhaustion.  Life  had  caught  me  in 
its  vise  and  wrung  and  twisted  and  bruised  and  battered 
me  so,  that  I  felt  as  an  old,  old  man. 

The  next  two  or  three  days  I  noticed  a  change  in  Anna. 
She  grew  extremely  grave  and  silent;  never  addressing  me 
in  any  way,  and  starting  visibly  when  spoken  to.  She 
seemed  to  have  awakened  from  the  ecstatic  dream  that  the 
realization  of  her  maternity  had  plunged  her  into.  She 
gazed  long  and  earnestly  at  my  face  whenever  I  was  with 
ner,  as  if  trying  to  read  the  solution  of  the  problem  she 
was  studying  there;  and  I  noticed  an  effort  to  conceal  the 
child  from  me,  whenever  I  approached.  She  spoke  no 
more  to  it  nor  of  it  in  my  presence,  and  her  eyes  were 
shaded  and  darkened  with  the  shadow  of  heavy  thought. 

From  all  of  this  I  drew  a  sad  satisfaction.    She  was,  at 


ANNA    LOMBARD.  209 

jeast,  something  more  of  my  Anna  again.  She  was  no 
longer  merely  the  absorbed  mother,  seeing  and  recognizing 
nothing  but  her  child's  face  and  hearing  nothing  but  her 
child's  voice.  She  was  again  allowing  me  some  share  in 
her  thoughts;  though  what  that  share  was  and  in  what  kind 
of  thoughts,  I  had  no  idea,  and  she  gave  me  no  clew.  I 
•saw  her  look  at  me  long  and  hungrily  as  I  sat  beside  her, 
and  then  turn  her  eyes  toward  the  little  hump  under  the 
sheet  where  the  child  lay;  but  she  would  not  answer  me 
when  I  questioned  her  as  to  her  thoughts,  though  once  she 
burst  into  passionate  tears  and  begged  me  to  leave  her 
room.  I  divined  that  she,  like  myself,  was  gazing  into  the 
dark  mirror  of  the  future  and,  like  myself,  shrinking 
from  what  it  held  for  us — we  who  had  really  loved.  Per- 
haps I  ought  to  have  known  what  all  this  portended  and 
Been  where  it  was  leading  her.  But  not  the  faintest  fore- 
shadowing or  premonition  of  the  truth  was  vouchsafed  to 
me.  Nor  should  I  have  been  able  to  influence  her  nor 
prevent  what  followed,  had  I  been  forewarned.  In  that 
singularly  soft  and  gentle  temperament  there  existed  an 
underlying  force  and  violence  which,  when  aroused,  domi- 
nated irresistibly  everything  opposed  to  it.  During  those 
few  days  I,  too,  was  preoccupied  with  the  problem  my  own 
future  offered;  but  1  saw  in  a  dim  way,  that  became  clear- 
er to  me  afterward,  that  she  was  wrestling  in  the  throes  of 
some  terrible  struggle  with  herself. 

One  evening,  toward  sunset,  when  the  day's  work  was 
•over,  I  was  sitting  alone,  as  usual  now,  in  my  library. 
A.nna  and  the  child  were  upstairs.  Since  the  day  when 
,8he  had  looked  into  my  face  and  read  everything  there,  all 
her  rapid  convalescence,  all  that  exuberant  rebuilding  of 
Nature  had  suddenly  stopped.  She  had  gone  steadily 
backward,  and  lay  now,  day  after  day,  pale  and  silent  on 
her  bed.  I  felt  guilty  and  reproached  myself.  I  should 
have  withdrawn  from  her  when  I  was  no  longer  needed  and 
left  her  to  this  new  joy  which  had  filled  her  life.  Yet  even 
that  could  not  have  been  done  without  explanation  and 
understanding.  But  I  felt  I  had  awakened  her  too  rough- 
ly. Why  does  it  seem  fated,  I  asked  myself,  when  one 
strives  and  strives  to  do  well  for  another,  that  there  should 
be  always  some  moment  of  weakness,  of  selfishness  that 
overtakes  one  and  undoes  all  that  one  has  done?  I  saw 
now  clearly  that  the  old  love,  reawakened  in  her  heart,  was 


/10  '  ANHA    LOMBARD. 

battling  there  with  the  new  and  tearing  her  between  them 
«ii  the  struggle,  just  as  in  former  times.  Surely  the  best 
that  I  could  do  was  to  leave  her  to  the  fulfillment  of  the 
natural  law  and  the  natural  destiny  of  women;  to  withdraw 
myself  now,  and  so  end  the  struggle  for  her.  To  that  I 
must  summon  my  strength.  And  yet,  as  I  realized  it — 
realized  that  I  was  to  finally  renounce  this  thing  that  had 
teen  my  pleasure  and  my  pain,  my  anguish  and  delighi 
and,  through  all,  so  entirely  my  own — I  shrunk  back  dis- 
Biayed.  What  should  we  be,  one  without  the  other;  we, 
whose  every  thought  even  had  been  divided  and  shared? 
She  was  interwoven  with  me  in  such  intimacy  that  to  leave 
her,  to  lose  her,  seemed  as  impossible  and  absurd  as  if  my 
right  arm  could  drop  from  me  and  assume  a  life  of  its 
own.  I  looked  up  at  her  portrait  on  the  wall  and  met  the 
strangely  powerful,  gleaming  eyes  through  the  dusk,  and 
*  iid  to  myself  aloud  in  the  silence: 

"  This  impossible  thing  is  to  be!" 

There  was  a  step  behind  me,  a  movement  in  the  room, 
«fnd  I  turned  and  saw  that  Anna  had  entered.  She  came 
»:lose  up  to  me,  and  quickly,  like  some  one  who  has  a  mes- 
sage to  deliver.  When  she  was  directly  in  front  of  me  she 
atopped  and  lifted  her  face.  I  bent  forward,  and  a  whis- 
per I  could  hardly  hear  went  through  the  room. 

"  I  have  expiated  my  sins  to  you,  at  last.  I  have 
killed  it." 

"  Killed  what?"  I  said  in  a  vague  horror. 

Her  words  conveyed  no  sense  to  me. 

"  I  have  killed  the  child." 

She  said  it  very  simply  and  naturally.  I  searched  her 
Jface  with  terror.  I  thought  she  had  lost  her  reason.  But 
there  was  no  insanity  in  that  countenance,  only  a  dreadful 
grief  and  sorrow,  pathetic,  tear-filled  eyes  and  quivering 
*ips  that  could  hardly  frame  the  words.  Before  I  could 
•peak,  before  I  could  collect  my  thoughts  or  realize  it  all, 
nhe  went  on : 

"  I  saw  all.  It  was  all  revealed  to  me  in  a  sudden  flash 
of  light.  I  saw  all  your  feelings  these  last  weeks.  I 
looked  back  through  all  the  previous  months;  then  I 
looked  into  the  future  and  saw  what  that  would  be.  One 
had  to  be  sacrificed,  either  you  or  the  child.  And  could  it 
be  you?  Was  this  to  be  your  reward  for  all  yt  u  have  done 
and  suffered  for  my  sake?  Had  it  lived,  it  would  have 


ANNA    LOMBARD.  21 J 

taken  all  my  life.  Now  my  grief  will  take  me  for  a  fe^ 
months.  Spare  me  to  it  for  that  time;  and  then,  after 
that,  I  am  all  your  own,  forever  and  ever.  While  you  live, 
I  will  live  for  you  and  in  you;  and  when  you  die,  I  will  die 
with  you." 

She  spoke  in  a  trembling  voice,  and  her  face  was  wet 
with  the  streaming  tears  that  welled  inexhaustibly  out  of 
her  eyes.  She  took  one  of  my  hands  and  kissed  it  witli 
cold  lips,  wet  with  tears.  I  stood  still,  dazed,  horrified, 
frozen.  What  had  she  done?  Was  it  all  true  and  real  or 
was  she  raving? 

"  What  have  you  done?"  I  said,  hoarsely.  "  I  don't 
understand.  Where  is  the  child?  Let  me  see  it." 

"  Come  upstairs,"  she  said,  simply,  and  turned  to  the 
staircase,  and  I  followed  as  in  a  dream. 

When  we  reached  the  landing  at  the  head  of  the  stairs  I 
stopped  still;  a  sort  of  numbness  came  over  me.  I  felt  I 
could  not  face  what  lay  before  me  in  the  room.  Then,  as 
in  a  vision,  I  saw  Anna  turn  back  and  take  my  hand  and 
lead  me  into  the  room.  It  was  only  half-lighted;  every- 
thing was  dim,  except  the  white  charpoy  in  the  center,  and 
on  it  lay  the  child,  as  I  had  often  seen  it  sleeping.  Anna 
drew  me  forward,  and  lifting  one  of  my  hands  when  we 
stood  beside  the  bed,  laid  it  on  the  child's  forehead.  It 
was  quite  cold.  I  looked  at  it.  The  dusky,  little  form 
looked  very,  very  small  and  helpless  now.  Yet  what  a 
terrible  power  it  had  possessed  in  life,  a  power  before  which 
our  full  lives  had  been  as  nothing,  because  Nature  had  in- 
vested it  with  the  power  of  her  law.  Then  I  looked  at  the 
mother.  Anna's  eyes  were  fixed  upon  me  with  a  devour 
ing  anxiety  in  them.  In  the  dusk  we  looked  at  each  other 
over  the  tiny,  quiet  form  of  the  child.  Then  she  stretched 
out  her  hands  to  me. 

"  Gerald,  you  do  understand?  I  have  done  this  foi 
you." 

And  I  whispered  back,  "  Yes,  I  understand." 

And  our  hands  touched  each  other's  and  there  was  si- 
lence. The  room  was  very  quiet  and  the  dusk  grew  deeper 
and  deeper  round  us.  At  last,  in  the  darkness,  Anna's 
voice  broke  out  with  a  great  cry,  as  she  slipped  to  her 
knees  beside  the  bed. 

"  Oh,  how  could  I  do  it?  It  was  my  own,  dear,  little 
child,  and  I  loved  it  so!" 


212  ANNA    LOMBAED. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

JUST  a  week  had  passed  over,  a  horrible  week  like  a 
nightmare;  but  it  had  passed  and  left  me  and  Anna — if 
this  frail,  attenuated  specter  were  really  Anna — alone  in  the 
bungalow,  as  in  former  times.  There  was  no  other  pres- 
ence; no  call  to  summon  her  from  my  side;  no  duties  to 
take  her  from  me;  no  small,  clinging  vine  running  over 
the  tree  of  our  love  and  stifling  it.  Anna,  or  her  sad 
shadow,  was  my  own  again.  She  was  sitting  opposite  mo 
in  the  veranda,  a  thin,  narrow  figure  in  black,  with  all  hei 
hair  put  back  from  her  face,  that  was  colorless  and  death 
like  as  a  nun's. 

She  sat  with  her  hands  stiff  and  white  in  her  lap  and  hen 
eyes  looking  out  vacantly  into  the  sunshine. 

"  I  want  you  to  go  away  for  a  time,  Gerald,"  she  wae 
saying.  "  I  want  to  try  and  understand  things.  I  want 
to  lead  the  life  of  a  penitent.  I  want  to  feel  sure,  before 
I  can  begin  to  be  happy  again,  that  G-od  understands  and 
forgives  it  all.  It  seemed  right  to  me  at  the  time;  bui 
now — now,  I  don't  know."  She  paused  a  minute  or  two, 
and  then  went  on,  "You  know,  when  the  doctor  came  and 
questioned  me  about  the  child's  death,  and  I  said  I  must 
have  suffocated  it  beneath  me  while  I  slept,  then  it  came 
home  to  me.  I  felt  I  was  guilty — and  I  was.  What  a 
mist  of  lies  grew  up  round  me,  and  this  grief — great  God  1 
— that  is  so  real,  it  is  killing  me,  even  that  seems  all  un- 
true and  unholy,  because  every  one  believes  it  is  grief  for 
what  I  could  not  help,  not  for  my  own  deed." 

I  was  silent.     What  could  I  answer  her? 

"And  I  should  like  to  be  quite  alone  to  pray  and  pray 
and  pray  and  fast  and  think  and  get  near  again  to  God,  as 
I  have  always  felt  I  have  been  in  my  life;  and  whatever  I 
have  done,  I  have  never  done  what  /  thought  wrong.  I 
have  never  felt  that  God  was  angry  with  me.  Now  I  foel 
so  lost,  so  alone." 

Her  voice  shook  and  dropped.  I  went  over  to  her  and 
stood  by  her. 

"  I  am  here,"  I  said,  gently. 

"Yes,  dear  Gerald,  I  know;  but  the  soul  is  a  thing 
apart  and  has  a  life  of  its  own,  an  utterly  separate  life  that 


ANNA    LOMBARD.  213 

belongs  to  God,  and  no  mortal  can  come  into  it.  To  my 
brain  and  heart  and  body  you  are  all,  but  to  my  soul  you 
are  nothing.  It  does  not  know  you  nor  recognize  you.  In 
the  hour  of  my  death,  though  your  arms  hold  me  and  your 
love  is  all  round  me  and  your  lips  on  mine,  yet  my  soul 
will  slip  away  from  you  into  the  darkness  all  alone."  We 
were  both  silent,  and  the  horror  of  this  life  and  death 
seemed  all  round  us,  glaring  at  us  from  out  of  the  gold 
sunlight.  "  And  so,"  she  went  on,  after  a  pause,  with  an 
effort,  "  if  I  have  done  wrong,  I  want  to  repent.  I  want 
to  get  back  that  peace  of  mind,  that  unity  with  God  I  al- 
ways had  before.  Will  you  go  and  leave  me  for  a  time?" 

"  I  will  always  do  whatever  you  ask  me,  you  know;  but. 
why  send  me  away — now  of  all  times?  I  ought  to  be  witb 
you,  surely." 

Anna  shook  her  head. 

"No;  I  shall  think  too  much  of  you,  become  too  much 
drawn  into  your  love,  become  too  comforted  and  consoled. 
I  must  be  alone,  and  suffer  and  work  out  eome  sort  of  re- 
pentance for  myself  which  will  be  accepted,  and  I  shall  be 
forgiven."  She  looked  hard  into  iny  face  and  then  mur- 
mured, in  her  old,  tender  tones,  "  I  know  it  is  hard  upon 
you,  too.  But  it  is  only  one  little  trial  more,  one  sorrow 
to  bear  for  a  time,  for  I  feel  God  means  you  to  be  happy. 
As  for  me,  I  deserve  nothing;  but  he  will  forgive  me,  per- 
haps, for  your  sake,  and  let  me  be  at  last  an  instrumeul 
of  happiness  to  you;  but  it  can  not  be  just  yet.  Leave  me 
to  suffer  a  little  while.  Be  patient,  just  a  little  white 
longer." 

I  looked  down  at  her;  at  the  emaciation  of  the  figure  IL 
its  close,  black  dress;  at  the  fragility  of  the  hand  which  1 
held  in  mine;  at  the  white  transparency  of  the  face;  at  the 
eyes  that  were  dry  now,  worn  out  with  excessive  weeping. 

"  Anna,  I  can't  leave  you  like  this!"  I  exclaimed. 
*'  More  suffering,  more  sorrow,  and  you  will  go  from  me 
altogether." 

She  shook  her  head,  and  a  little  smile  that  was  full  of 
power  came  into  her  face. 

"  No,  I  think  not.  I  shall  try  to  live,  to  4o  better  than 
I  have  done.  Only  leave  me  to  myself." 

"  But  for  how  long?"  I  asked,  desperately. 

"  I  think  it  should  be  a  year,"  she  said  in  a  low  tone 
and  with  downcast  eyes. 


214  ANNA    LOMBAKD. 

I  groaned. 

"  A  year!  Exile  for  a  year!  But  why —  Anna,  it  s 
absurd!" 

"  If  I  should  feel  I  were  forgiven  sooner,  I  would  write 
to  you,"  she  answered  in  a  low  voice.  "  But  oh,  Gerald! 
don't  make  it  harder  for  me  than  it  is!"  she  cried,  sud- 
denly, with  a  rush  of  tears.  "  Help  me  to  do  something 
which  I  think  is  right.  Think  what  I  am,  what  I  have 
done." 

"  Dear  child,  your  will  is  mine.  It  has  always  been, 
you  know.  Tell  me  when  you  wish  me  to  go  and  when  to 
return  and  it  shall  be  so." 

She  was  leaning  back  against  me,  exhausted. 

"  Go  to-morrow,"  she  whispered,  faintly,  "  and  come 
back  when  I  send  to  you," 

"  It  will  seem  so  strange,"  I  murmured,  mechanically. 
"  What  will  every  one  say  to  see  you  alone,  and  I — " 

A  ghost  of  a  mocking  smile  came  to  her  lips  and  eyes. 

"  Have  we  ever  cared  what  they  said?"  she  whispered. 

And  the  following  day  I  went  into  exile.  These  things 
are  easy  to  arrange  when  one  is  in  high  places  and  money 
is  at  hand. 

Anna's  good-by  to  me  was  pitiful,  pathetic  as  the  young 
nun's  to  her  parents  when  she  has  renounced  the  world; 
but  it  was  as  pure  and  unimpassioned. 

Passion  to  her  suddenly  seemed  revealed  as  a  sin.  It  jarred 
with  her  grief,  and  she  shrunk  from  the  kiss  of  my  lips 
and  turned  hers  away. 

After  I  had  left  her  I  recalled  the  parting  with  wonder; 
and  it  seemed  as  if  the  Anna  Lombard  I  had  known  had 
vanished  with  the  death  of  the  child  into  the  past. 

For  a  whole  year  I  stayed  away  in  exile.  I  had  plenty 
of  work,  for  I  only  exchanged  stations;  and  in  one  a  thou- 
sand miles  away  I  went  through  the  same  duties  I  had  in 
my  own.  But  my  inner  life  seemed  at  a  standstill.  My 
own  pleasure  was  dead.  Anna  had  so  long  been  the  center 
of  my  thoughts  that  when  that  was  cut  away  they  seemed 
unable  to  rally  round  any  other  object.  I  saw  other  wom- 
en and  met  them  and  danced  with  them  and  dined  with 
them,  but  I  felt  as  a  deaf  man  at  an  opera.  Some  idle 
show  is  passing  before  his  eyes  which  means  nothing  to  him 
and  can  not  reach  him  through  his  closed  ears.  I  lived  in 
the  moment  when  I  should  return  to  her  and  in  her  let- 


ANNA    LOMBARD.  (  215 

ters.  They  were  not  very  frequent,  and  they  were  subdued, 
even  a  little  cold;  but  I  felt  in  them  a  growing  confidence 
in  herself,  a  tone  of  increasing  peace  and  calm,  and  I  was 
satisfied.  She  was  really  working  out  her  repentance,  and 
when  that  was  accomplished  I  knew  she  would  summon 
me  to  her.  Her  past  had  been  another's  and  her  present 
was  now  her  own;  but  her  future  belonged  to  me,  I  knew. 
And  I  waited  and  kept  my  patience.  At  last  the  summons 
came.  It  was  very  short. 

"  I  believe  I  am  forgiven,  and  that  it  is  right  to  recall 
you.  Come  back  to  me.  ANNA."  j 

And  that  same  night  I  started  to  return.  A  heavy,  sul- 
len, orange  sun  was  hanging  low  in  the  western  sky  over 
the  rolling  plains,  as  I  rode  from  the  station  toward  the 
bungalow  on  the  third  day.  The  light,  parched  dust  rose 
in  little  whirls  before  me,  as  the  hot  desert  wind  ran  over 
it  and  licked  it  up  here  and  there.  Otherwise  there  was 
no  moving  thing,  and  the  silence  was  complete  except  for 
the  thudding  of  my  own  heart  as  we  rode  forward.  I  won- 
dered how  she  would  receive  me,  and  I  remembered  how  I 
had  left  her.  Was  I  coming  back  to  that  same  black- 
robed  penitent?  Was  the  old,  loving,  impetuous,  erring 
Anna  shut  away  from  me,  forever,  behind  the  invisible  door 
of  the  past?  It  was  fated,  apparently,  that  I  should  love 
her  through  all  time  and  metamorphoses;  but  my  heart 
sunk  as  I  thought  of  those  firm,  red  lips  faded  to  a  nun- 
like  paleness;  and  that  curling,  amorous  hair,  that  held 
the  changing  lights,  subdued  beneath  a  veil,  as  I  had  seen 
it  last;  and  all  the  buoyant  passions  of  her  nature  tamed 
and  put  to  sleep. 

A  chill  seemed  to  surround  me  in  the  midst  of  the  hot 
breath  of  the  desert,  and  the  huge  burnished  disk  ahead  of 
me  sunk  lower  in  the  mist. 

As  the  last  long  undulation  of  the  sandy  plain  was  sur- 
mounted, the  roof  of  the  white  bungalow  and  the  encircling 
palms  rose  into  sight;  and,  drawing  my  breath  almost  still, 
I  urged  the  horse  forward. 

There  was  no  sign  of  life,  as  I  approached.  I  descried 
the  long  windows  of  the  upper  story  and  the  covered  bal- 
cony where  the  child  had  slept.  The  garden  beneath 
bloomed  like  one  single  rose  in  its  wealth  of  blossom,  and 
a  cool  air  came  from  it  and  diffused  its  fragrance.  I  drew 


^16  ANNA    LOMBARD. 

ny  horse  in  at  the  compound  gate;  and  at  that  instant 
there  was  a  step  upon  the  gravel,  and  I  turned  and  saw  her. 

A  figure  in  white  with  the  sunlight  in  the  eyes  and  hair. 
It  was  the  same  Anna  Lombard  I  had  left  a  maidea  sleep- 
ing in  the  garden.  Only  now  it  was  Anna  awakened,  with 
the  look  behind  the  eyes  of  one  who  has  read  all  the  secrets 
of  life,  and  the  look  above  the  brows  of  one  who  has  met 
life  and  conquered  it. 

She  ran  down  toward  me  with  feet  that  hardly  touched 
the  ground;  then,  when  a  few  paces  from  me,  she  stopped, 
a,nd  with  one  turn  of  her  hand  brought  over  her  shoulder 
the  bright,  shining  twist  of  hair  that  had  captured  my 
senses  long  ago,  and  she  paused,  gazing  at  me,  expectantly. 

"  Do  1  please  you?"  she  whispered. 

Her  eyes  were  shining,  her  wnole  face  was  lighted  from 
within,  her  body  seemed  expanding  and  dilating  with  the 
force  of  her  nervous  joy.  She  had  in  those  moments  a 
beauty  beyond  description.  My  eyes  swam  as  I  looked  at 
her. 

"  Dearest  Anna,  you  are  beautiful;  but  it  is  not  for  these 
things  that  I  love  you,  you  know." 

"  I  know,  I  know,"  she  murmured,  throwing  herself 
into  my  arms,  putting  her  own  soft  ones  about  my  neck, 
a,nd  pressing  the  rose  of  her  mouth  against  my  cheek. 
"  But  you  are  human  and  you  like  to  have  them,  and  I 
am  human  and  I  like  to  give  them,  and  we  have  both  suf- 
fered so  much  no  one  would  grudge  us  our  happiness  now. 
Oh,  I  have  so  prayed  for  God  to  give  me  back  my  good 
looks  to  reward  you  with,  and  that  he  has  done  so  is  a  sign 
of  his  forgiveness;  don't  you  think  so?" 

And  I  answered,  softly,  "  Yes,  dear." 


THE    END. 


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